


The Lost Horcrux (2021 Reboot)

by Th3Alchemist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Blood and Violence, Dark, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, Dark Past, Dystopia, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Past Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:20:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 44
Words: 301,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28569891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Th3Alchemist/pseuds/Th3Alchemist
Summary: Harry Potter is thought dead, killed at the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione suffers the horrors of a forced marriage, to a Ron seduced by the lure of power. Trapped in this dystopian nightmare, Hermione's last fading hope is to somehow ask Harry to rescue her on his Deathday. Finally, after 5 years away, a hideously scarred - but beautifully alive - Harry returns to grant her wish.
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Neville Longbottom/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 208





	1. Author Note 2021

****

**Author Note Jan 2021:** Welcome to _The Lost Horcrux - The Author's Cut_!

Happy New Year guys, and welcome to the 2021 upgrade of The Lost Horcrux!

Despite the divisive nature of this fic, I still feel it is one of my best works, but my recent Welsh translation flagged up many areas in which it could be tidied up, rewritten and improved, so I have embarked on a mammoth re-work project for this story.

To start with, I have decided to return the story to English with a new and improved structure and some pretty new cover art. My thanks to the highly-talented Sima from the Harmony FB page, who came up with the initial design when I was still a member there. Some of the chapters of the original story were stupidly long, so I am chopping them up into smaller chunks to improve readability. To date, the first 9 original chapters have been extended into 20! ... which should give you an idea of their ridiculous size! But the story will benefit from tighter focus, less density per chapter, and I can already see improvements myself. For anyone who read the original, you might find some newness in the updates, but overall the story will essentially be the same. Any significant deviations from the initial plot will be more for expansion rather than major alteration. That said, there will be new character arcs, exploration of a few side plots and general structural improvements overall.

The net result will be a much stronger and satisfying story I believe.

Now, if you are new to the story, please, PLEASE heed the disclaimers on each chapter. They are there for good reason and I will offer no apology for content if you continue beyond this point and take offence, as many have done in the past. This story has some VERY DARK moments and themes so please, PLEASE avoid if you are easily triggered, squeamish around sex talk or of a delicate nature. If any of these apply to you, this story is not one you should read and you should click the close icon right now. This is my darkest work by a million miles, but I try not to repeat the same style over and over in my stories. I have some very light and fluffy fics in my portfolio as a contrast to this, so feel free to check those out if this is too heavy for you.

So, with that all said, lets get into _The Lost Horcrux 2.0!_


	2. The Deathday Party

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery. I'm exploring dark places, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

They held the party every year.

For the first one they actually broke into Hogwarts itself, found the very spot where it had happened and tried to perform the ritual there. But the Dark Wards imposed by the new regime alerted the authorities to intruders, and they were forced to take refuge in the Forbidden Forest for several days. By the time it was safe to come out again, the narrow window of opportunity had passed.

Since then they had learned to be more discreet. Public places were out of the question. The surveillance state that had developed since Lord Voldemort's accession was all-encompassing. There wasn't a Wizarding street anywhere that escaped round-the-clock monitoring. And with the Muggle world being stealthily subjugated, too, it was proving difficult to find anywhere safe.

But each year they had to. Just for hope's sake.

This year, on the fifth anniversary, Hermione's old flat had been chosen as the location. Only a couple of people knew about it, and she trusted them explicitly. If they turned on her, they might as well all give up now. So Hermione had spent the last few weeks preparing. It hadn't been easy. Ron was watching her more closely now, asking more questions. He knew what she was up to, not that he'd attended the party in the past three years. Not since his promotion.

Commandant of the Hengest Camp for Squib Rehabilitation. He was proud of his role. He'd risen quickly through the ranks, since accepting a job with the Muggleborn Registration Commission. Hermione was disgusted at it. He said he only did it to keep her safe, to keep her out of the hands of the Commission. But it didn't explain why he'd taken to the role with such zealous enthusiasm. He was just an inside man, he insisted, looking out for her from under the noses of their enemies. It was the only way to keep her alive.

But he said the same thing when she was forced to marry him.

Marriage into a Pureblood family. A free pass to escape the camps. Only she wasn't free. She felt as much of a prisoner as those poor souls behind the high barbed-wired fences. The ones she now had to endure the horror of seeing every day, since she and Ron had moved into the huge manor house for the Commandant right on the outskirts of the camp. It was a living nightmare.

At least when they'd lived in Glastonbury she could come and go relatively as she pleased. The security measures on every house, every building, every street she entered may have been smothering and cumbersome, but at least she could pass those checkpoints without submitting to a body pat down, surrendering her wand for inspection and enduring the violation of a Legilimency scan.

For that was her life now. At least in the new house she and Ron had separate bedrooms. Their monthly commune - as required by their marriage contract - was now a brief, regimented affair. They would talk about politics and foreign policy for the four or five minutes that Ron was thrusting into her. Then he would grunt, roll off and cast a Contraceptive Charm on her. It wouldn't do to get her pregnant. The shame might cost him his job. After all, he had a harem of Pureblood witches waiting to bear his children, just as soon as they came of age themselves.

Hermione had conditioned herself not to cry after these meetings. The pain had stopped long ago and Ron was so poorly endowed that she barely felt him inside her these days. And he was so clumsy with his spell work that Hermione was half-convinced he had made her barren anyway. She would retreat to the shower after every Bedding Rite and wash the soil of it from every part she could reach. The shower hid her tears in the early days, now it just helped cleanse her self-hatred.

Her only hope of release came on this anniversary. This day every year. She built herself up, mindless of the futility of it. It had never worked, but each year she would find a safe place, follow the local ley lines until they converged, create a tributary from there and set up the ritual space. A pentagram, a convolution of the correct sequence of runes, an array of security enchantments and a slew of spells to summon the one person she hoped her efforts could reach.

Not that he had ever come. And why would he? Why leave the sanctuary of death to return to this hellish new reality? Not even Harry Potter was that chivalrous.

But it still gave Hermione hope. She clung to that notion, as far-fetched as it was. It helped her get through the darkest of days. Nothing could bring back the dead. She knew that. But she also knew there were ghosts and other manifestations from the spirit world. She had steadfastly refused to accept that Harry had just left her like that ... without a goodbye, without an explanation ... without being part of the plan.

For hadn't they been following a plan? Laid out by Dumbledore, wrapped in allegory and misty deceit. Horcruxes, Hallows, Prophecies ... and an end to the darkness of Voldemort. Harry was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the one destined to vanquish the evil of Tom Riddle. Hermione simply couldn't wrap her head around him just walking blindly to his death as she'd been told. He wouldn't do that. There must have been a reason. He was her best and closest friend, and she refused to believe that he would have just left her all alone.

Not her. Everyone else, maybe. But not her.

So she clung staunchly to this belief that somehow, however twisted, this was all still part of the plan. Harry would find a way to tell them, send an emissary, a champion to continue the struggle in his stead, for he was unable. And Hermione would need to do her part. The last of the Order of the Phoenix would need to emerge from hiding and take up arms again. At least the ones Ron hadn't yet been able to turn over to the Death Eaters, or worse, one of Draco Malfoy's _Section Seven_ Agents. Those dark wizards terrified Hermione almost as much as Voldemort himself.

Hermione pushed aside her fears as she continued her incantations. The others would be arriving soon. She had laid out a large spread of food and drink - this was a celebration, after all. Celebrating Harry's short life, and the wonderful person he was, one that they all had loved so dearly. Hermione more dearly than any of them. Or all of them combined. This night wasn't just about indulging fanciful whims and impossible hopes. But as Hermione flicked her wand and whispered the words of Summoning, she knew where her thoughts would be all night.

The other members of the Order of Potter, as they had dubbed themselves, began arriving at the pre-determined times. They all knew that they were under some form of surveillance or other. It would be too suspicious for their Floo and Portkey activity to register at the same time and to the same location. The monitoring spells at the Ministry of Magical Governance would be all over them like a bout of spattergoit.

Luna and Seamus were due to arrive first. But at 7.05pm, only Luna emerged from the teapot Portkey. Her eyes were tear-stained, her dirty-blonde hair dishevelled and scraped back harshly into a rough ponytail. Hermione hurried to her and hugged her tight.

"What's happened? Where's Seamus?" she asked quickly.

Luna shook her head miserably. When she spoke, her broken voice was so leaden, so much unlike her usual light tones. "Section Seven. They arrested him this afternoon. He hadn't fulfilled his Marriage Bedding this month, but he was only a day late. His husband, Alan, had a bad fall during a Quidditch match. He wasn't able to commune. It's all S7 needed. They've been after Seamus for years, and now they've got him."

Luna whimpered and Hermione felt her heart bleed. She tried not to imagine Seamus in one of the Interrogation Suites, in the bowels of the New Magus Intelligence Building in London. Draco Malfoy had shown her one once during their construction. There was more than a little hint that he was looking forward to getting her in one before long. She shuddered at the thought. There was another _pop_ and Susan Bones appeared before them.

"I heard about Seamus," she said quickly. "I went to see Alan before coming here. Sorry I'm late."

"How is he?" asked Hermione.

"Distraught doesn't even cover it," said Susan, taking off her coat. "How are _you_? You look tired."

"I'm alright," Hermione lied.

"That black eye tells a different story," said Susan, angrily. "He's beating you again, isn't he?"

"No more than Blaise is knocking you about," said Hermione, motioning at the cast on Susan's wrist. "He won't even let you heal by magic?"

"It's one of my _lessons,_ " said Susan, sarcastically. "How else am I supposed to learn?"

Hermione gave a mirthless laugh.

"The reinstated laws may allow a wizard to punish his wife in his own home," said Luna, thoughtfully. "But there's nothing that says you can't defend yourselves. You are both extremely powerful."

"It isn't as simple as that," said Hermione. "Being married to a prominent wizard brings a burden of its own."

"Yeah," Susan nodded. "If we fight back, we will be condemned as corrupt sorceresses and slung up before a show trial. You remember what happened to poor old Hannah Abbott when she tried that?"

Hermione shivered at the memory. She had been there, forced to watch at Ron's side. The jumped up charges, the torment and humiliation they put her through, the public reintroduction of the Ducking Stool and The Burning Stake. Just for sport. They even used the trial as the first show on the new _Wizarding Pictographical Network_. The latest propaganda tool. Hermione hated it.

"Who else is coming tonight?" asked Susan, pouring a glass of wine for all of them. She looked up, nonplussed. "What? I need a drink! It's been a stressful day."

"Just pass me one of those," Hermione smirked. "Well, without poor Seamus, it will just be half-a-dozen of us. Ernie can't make it. He is under investigation by the Commission for passing warnings to some Muggleborns in Kent. They escaped England by jumping over the White Cliffs of Dover in a rubber dinghy. They should be half way to France by now, tide permitting. It's far too risky for him to come."

"What about Jenny and Sally-Anne?"

"Mrs and _Mrs_ Perks are attending a vigil in Godric's Hollow," said Luna. "There's a lot going to that one. I'm surprised the Death Eaters allow it, to be honest."

"It's because it's a shrine for them, too," said Hermione, bitterly. "It marks both of Harry's defeats, doesn't it? His parents were murdered in that village, and his own death monument is in the garden of their old cottage. The Death Eaters built it themselves, remember? It reminds us all that Voldemort won, killing Harry - his nemesis, the only one fated to be able to stop him - in the process. King Voldemort ... _The Defier of Prophecies_. The Death Eaters love to ram that message hard down our throats, so they release their choke-holds on us once a year. They think it keeps us in line."

"Bollocks to that," said Susan, draining and refilling her glass. "So, who are the other three coming tonight?"

"The Patils will be along later," said Hermione. "I'm sorry ... _The Hiranis._ I still cant believe they got married with the world in this state. Still, I suppose they had to ... just like we _all_ did. Oh, and Justin said he'll be here."

"Just us girls then," said Susan, lightly. "Or five-and-a-half."

"That's not very nice," Luna frowned. "Justin was so excited about finally getting the operation. He had spent so long on the other treatments."

"Then Muggle Medicine was outlawed," said Hermione, crossly.

"Not before they allowed his castration," Susan pointed out. "Poor Justin."

Silence engulfed them. It hung heavy in the air, congealed and thick. They could think of little else to say, so just drank until the others arrived. The Hirani twins arrived together. They looked terrible and the reason was soon outed.

"There's a new initiative at The Balneum," Padma explained. "We're part of it."

"The Balneum?" asked Susan. "Isn't that the research division of St Mungo's?"

"The same," said Parvati. "They are looking into magical development in siblings, with particular interest in twins. We were _requested_ to submit ourselves for examination on Tuesday."

"Let's just say the tests have been pretty fucking torturous," said Padma angrily. "I cant remember the last time I slept."

"Neither of us can," Parvati agreed. "Now they want to look at our kids!"

Hermione gasped. "They're taking your _boys_ in?"

Padma nodded. "They don't think it's a coincidence that we got pregnant at around the same time, both gave birth a month early, and _both_ had twin boys. They want to examine our kids, as well as ourselves, to find a connection. Something they might be able to exploit ... or _duplicate_."

Parvati suddenly burst into tears. Hermione and Susan rushed to her, grabbing her before she fell. Luna took Padma's hand and squeezed it consolingly. This was the scene that greeted Justin Finch-Fletchley, as he and his Portkey materialised in the flat. He didn't even have to ask the details of what was wrong. He simply moved to the fireplace and added his embrace to the hugging women that he found there.

The outpouring was cathartic. The group separated and Susan made sure all six had full wine glasses. She proposed a toast.

"Well, we've all come from our own personal hells to be here tonight," she said. Her words were already a little slurred. "But we can put them aside for a few hours, find comfort in each other, and toast to the absent friend we have come here to remember. To Harry Potter, may he choose this night, the fifth anniversary of his death, to return to us, in whatever form he can. To Harry!"

"To Harry!" the others chorused. Hermione toasted louder than any of them, then they drank to Harry's name, before smashing their glasses into the pentagram, as the ritual dictated. The lines of the ancient symbol went from white to red as the rite was completed.

"It always looks weird when it does that," Justin commented.

Luna nodded in agreement. "And it's such a shame we have to waste the glass. They were so pretty."

"Here, have another," said Susan, thrusting a second full glass towards both Justin and Luna.

"Do you think he'll come tonight?" Padma asked Hermione, her voice low and quiet.

"I always hope so," said Hermione. Her eyes were swimming in sadness. They betrayed the futility of her lingering hope. Padma nodded in mirrored resignation.

"What would you do if he did?" asked Justin.

"Probably faint," said Hermione, honestly, eliciting a laugh from everyone. "It would be so incredible, wouldn't it?"

"But you don't really believe he will, so he probably wont," Luna mused absently. "You have to believe or he wont know."

"What makes you so sure of that?" asked Susan.

"I work in the Department of Mysteries," said Luna. "They don't let us out much. Especially those who've worked in the Death Chamber."

"Is that what you're doing now?" asked Parvati. "Sounds interesting."

"Ooh it is," said Luna excitedly. "I've been studying the Veil. It connects to the world of the dead somehow, but it's a one-way portal. Years ago it was used to carry out death sentences, you know. If you stand really close, though, you can hear them sometimes. The dead people. So they aren't far away. Harry knew that when he was alive, I'm sure he knows it now that he's dead."

Hermione felt sick at Luna's words. She hated hearing it spelled out so succinctly like that. She sipped her wine, but had to sit down before her weak knees became too unsteady.

"Small turn out this year," Justin commented, sitting opposite Hermione. "There's getting to be less of us each time."

"Section 7 came for Seamus today," Hermione informed him.

"Fuck off!" said Justin angrily. "No! Tell me that's not true!"

"Afraid so," Susan confirmed. "Alan's in bits, obviously."

"Those bastards," spat Justin. "First Dean last month, now Seamus. It wont end, will it? Not till we're all in one of their fucking incinerators."

"You haven't heard the worst of it," said Hermione. "Ron tells me there are plans in place for a _breeding_ initiative. Control of the gene pool. Filter out non-Pureblood lines once and for all. It's the eugenics programme we've all been fearing ... only so much worse."

"You are taking the piss!" cried Susan. "Are you sure he's not lying?"

"Sue - there are four girls at Hogwarts being groomed for Ron himself!" said Hermione. "Two are only thirteen at the moment. Once they are of age and can bear him children, that's it for me. I'll be turned over to Malfoy himself and Merlin knows what will happen to me then. I can barely stand to think about it."

"Oh, Minny!" said Susan, rushing up and hugging Hermione. "Don't say that!"

"It's the fate for all of us, I imagine," said Luna conversationally. "I just hope they curse me to death. I don't think I'd like to be set on fire."

"Here, here," said Justin, smirking slightly. "One good curse to the face. That's how I want to go."

The Hirani twins laughed. Hermione eased free from Susan's bear hug and looked longingly at the pentagram. It was still glowing, which was odd. It didn't usually last this long. Something stirred in her chest as she looked at it, but she couldn't quite put a name to the sensation. But _something_ was warming her. It was probably the wine, for she'd had nigh on half a bottle already and it was making her a little giddy. It was escapist and oh how she needed to escape.

But then she suddenly realised that it wasn't so much a warming _inside_ her chest she could feel ... it was something _on it._

Hermione quickly threw her hand to the chain around her neck and dragged out the old Galleon that hung there. Her original DA coin, Protean Charmed, linked to Harry's own ... to his Master Coin. It was glowing, warm to the touch ... but that should only happen if Harry touched his own coin, or it he was _close by_. But that was impossible ...

For Harry was long dead.

Hermione mentally slapped herself. She so wished Harry could be here. She needed him ... needed him so badly that she was hallucinating. She was convincing herself of anything, just for a spark of hope against the dark world engulfing her. She sighed, choked back a tear and a let out a ragged, stunted breath.

And then there was a knock on the door.


	3. Blood Brothers

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery. I'm exploring dark places, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

The door knocked again.

Every head snapped in Hermione's direction. She knew she must have looked as pale and concerned as the rest of them, but she had to stay calm.

"I thought you said no-one else was coming!" hissed Susan Bones.

"And didn't you make the place Unplottable? You usually do," added Justin.

"Of course I did," Hermione snapped back. "And there _isn't_ anyone else coming. Or at least ... there _shouldn't_ be."

The door knocked a third time. This one more urgent than the last.

"I'm going to open it."

"No, Minny ... it could be dangerous," moaned Susan.

"I'll open it, if you like," Luna offered breezily.

"No, it's my flat, I'll go," said Hermione, rising from the table. "Better clear this away, though."

She swept her wand, somewhat sadly, over the still glowing pentagram. She felt like she was sweeping Harry away with it. Had he been that close? Had he almost ...

She couldn't let herself think that, to _hope_ , for that, she'd only obsess over it later. There was another knock ... an impassioned series of thumps this time.

Hermione made her way to the door and peered through the glass. She hadn't realised how tense her shoulders were till she eased them slightly and opened the first of the three locks she'd fastened there.

"It's okay," she said to the others. "It's just Jimmy."

A squat, barrel-chested young man entered the room. Hermione didn't know Jimmy Peakes all that well. He'd once played Beater for Harry's Gryffindor Quidditch team. But these days he was employed as Ernie Macmillan's PA. In truth, he was more of a bodyguard. He was strained and sodden from the heavy rainfall outside.

"Yes, it's me," he said gruffly, shaking his wet mane like a shaggy dog as he crossed the threshold. "But it isn't okay. Ernie's dead."

Hermione threw her hands to her mouth to catch her gasp. Behind her, she heard the shatter of glass where Justin had closed his fist around his wine, which was now spilling out across the table. Parvati and Padma hugged as tears fell from them both. Susan was too shocked to even move.

"You're certain?" asked Luna, who was as pale as her hair.

Jimmy nodded. He was furiously angry, and the hurt was etched into his face at the death of his friend. "Malfoy did him personally. And when I say _personal ..._ I mean it had a 'hands-on' sort of feel, if you know what I mean."

"Cunting Malfoy," Justin hissed.

"Yes, yes, we all hate the blonde twat," said Jimmy impatiently. "But Ernie had gone to Alan to warn about Seamus. I suppose you've heard ... he's dead, too. Didn't survive the interrogation."

More tears fell. Even Luna broke down. This, somehow more than the others, shook Hermione to her core.

"Seamus gave you up," Jimmy went on. "He didn't have a choice. He had to try and save Alan ... but it didn't work. Section 7 took him in, too. We can all guess how _his_ night is going."

"What do you mean _gave us up?_ " asked Susan.

"He told Malfoy about this gathering," said Jimmy. "Malfoy knew already, just didn't know where it was taking place. Now he does. Commandant Weasley confirmed to him about the flat, gave him access to the location. They have a warrant for Hermione's arrest ... and they're coming."

"Ron turned her in?!" Susan cried. Hermione shifted as she waited for the response, her skin flecked with terrified, icy spikes.

"Oh, he's been waiting for a chance," Peakes explained. "Now she can be used in the new Lower Blood Restraining protocols."

"I've heard about those," said Justin. "What do they do?"

"Spells to restrict movement, Tracking Charms, Muting Charms - so she wont be able to speak to anyone unless Ron grants her permission to do so," Peakes began, pausing as the anger levels rose in the room. "There are rumours of a Blinding Jinx, which means Hermione wont be able to physically see anyone that Ron doesn't allow her to. She can expect a whole raft of Cerebral Charms on top of that. They'll take your memories, Hermione ... and your mind wont be under your own control for very long after that. You might want to consider Pensievising everything while you still can."

"How long do I have?" Hermione asked, shivering inside her jumper. "Where are they now?"

"By this time, they should just about be turning into your street," said Peakes, blithely.

"Out! Now! All of you," Hermione commanded. "They cant do anything to any of you, as long as they don't catch you in here."

"I'm not leaving," said Susan firmly. "Don't even -"

"Sue ... go, just go," said Hermione, fiercely. "I'll be alright."

Susan took one last, despairing look at Hermione, hugged her briefly, then Apparated away against the acid-green glow of the Floo, as the Hiranis vanished into the fireplace. Justin stood next, took Luna in his arms and spirited them away before the girl had any chance to protest.

"You too, Jimmy," said Hermione. "It isn't safe."

"I'll go, but not before I deliver you my message."

"What message?"

"The one Ernie told me as he died in my hands," said Peakes, fury warring with grief in his stern eyes. "He said ' _help will always be given ... to those Gryffindors who ask for it'._ He said you'd know what it meant."

It _couldn't_ be. It was impossible. Despite the doubt, Hermione's heart thrummed softly in a way it hadn't done in five years.

She took a calming breath. "Thank you, Jimmy. I think I understand." Over his shoulder, Hermione's Foe-Glass darkened. "Now go!"

Peakes Apparated away just as the door to the flat was powerfully kicked in. Draco Malfoy stepped across the threshold, his eyes red and burning in his slit-like sockets. He looked part-reptile these days. The ritual blood magic used to force a Subservience Bond with Lord Voldemort often led to physical transformations in the host. It was rumour heavy that Malfoy had been spliced with a kimodo dragon. It would certainly explain his unnaturally broad shoulders and forked tongue.

Ron was yet to have his own bonding ceremony. They hadn't made it down as far as the 'W's' in the list of those in the direct service of the Dark King. Hermione felt physically sick every time she thought about that impending day. It was coming soon, she was sure of that. She dreaded to think what sort of animal Ron would be unnaturally bound with.

After all, he was bad enough as a human.

"Granger," Malfoy hissed as he slithered towards her. His entourage of eight, combat dressed agents entered the room and fanned out around her, all with wands drawn and ready. "Party for one, is it?"

"This is my property, Malfoy. I'm not breaking any laws."

Malfoy raised a thin eyebrow. "Disappearing to a pre-Marital home _without_ the express permission of your Truly Wedded Lord? You're skirting the borders of _legal_ there, Granger."

Draco Malfoy always called her exclusively by her maiden name. A reminder of her origins ... of her _low-born_ origins. She didn't like to be reminded too often. The thought cut to her, tormented her about the lost past. They'd not even let her say goodbye to her parents, the last of the Granger name, whose bodies were now wallowing in one of the mass graves of the Muggle-born Bearers ... punished for the _treachery_ of bringing new magical life to the world outside of the ancient, Pureblood lines. Such heresy had to be rooted out, and David and Catrin Granger were summarily executed, along with countless others, all of them unaware of the heinous crimes they were being slain for committing.

"Last time I checked, I was allowed to come and go relatively as I please," Hermione argued. Fear roiled in her belly. Draco's eyes terrified her nearly as much as Voldemort's own.

"Relatively," Draco repeated in sneer. "Lord Weasley is always too lax with you. I'm sure his _consorts_ are granted fewer freedoms than you. And he _pays_ most of them."

If _that_ was true, Hermione pitied those skanky witches even more than before. Having Ron stick his small, ginger cock into one or another of them on a regular basis seemed a harsh enough life sentence as it was. At least _she_ got to leave the house once in a while. Hermione shuddered at the thought, but steadfastly returned Malfoy's stare.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Word has it that you're hosting your annual ' _lets-cry-over-that-cunt-Potter-being-dead'_ get together here," Malfoy replied, slickly. "I don't know why I've never been invited, you know. I _love_ celebrating that pricks' death. This is easily my favourite day of the year ... right up there on a par with the birth of my first son."

Hermione winced at his words. The twisted truth behind them, the pain of her own memories. She blinked back tears she would not shed.

Malfoy stalked around her. "I can see why Lord Weasley keeps you around," he said appraisingly. "You have one _hell_ of an arse on you. Not that _I'd_ ever touch you, so don't get your hopes up. You're a Mudblood ... I wouldn't fuck you with another man's dick! But Weasley isn't the _prettiest_ ginger biscuit in the pack, is he? Beggars cant be choosers, I suppose. But, still, that's an arse to be reckoned with. In another world, eh, Mudblood?"

Hermione dry heaved. Malfoy stepped close ... that forked tongue flicking hot spit down her ear. Terror and utter revulsion consumed Hermione from her stomach up. She felt something shift inside, something powerfully dizzying, and struggled to keep her footing as it swept through her like hot lightening. But she daren't pass out. Malfoy may have been a zealous blood-supremacist, but other wizards weren't so picky when faced with a free-to-abuse female form.

As Malfoy had said himself ... _beggars cant be choosers_.

The atmosphere shifted again, even Malfoy noticed it this time. His spiky blond hair perked up as though statically charged. He looked cautiously around, curiously unalarmed, but aware of something nearby. Something distinctly _feral._ And angry ... oh _yes_ , it was angry. It was a fury that had physical form, or form of some kind. Hermione couldn't honestly pin down what it was ... but she could definitely _feel_ it, whatever it was. It seemed as though the very air around them was about to viciously erupt and strike out in a violent tantrum.

Then the coin against her chest burned furiously hot ... but she felt not an ounce of pain. She clutched it tightly and scrunched her eyes together. One thought came to her mind ... a promise made oh so long ago ... one that was sworn to her would always be heard if she called for it.

And desperate hope now stirred Hermione to ask for the utterly improbable ... from the very wizard who had made the vow. And despite how impossible this seemed, Jimmy's message implored Hermione to try ...

" _Help me, Harry."_

Malfoy was taut, as animals are before a storm. He hadn't heard Hermione's unspoken plea ... but _someone_ had. A sudden flash of fire above their heads drew everyone's attention. It yielded a huge phoenix, one far bigger than any other Hermione had ever seen. Her rich plumage was deep scarlet, gold and emerald green. It called out in song so beautiful that it brought joyous tears to Hermione's eyes ... and at the same time was so equally _terrible_ that Malfoy and his agents fell to their knees in agony, clutching at their ears.

Then there was a new sound, one equally shocking. It was an animalistic roar so guttural, so furiously angry, that it shook the windows of the flat. Hermione looked around in utter disbelief as a gigantic, golden-haired _lion_ crashed through the open door of her flat and began indiscriminately slashing huge, razor-clawed paws at the cowering Section Seven Agents. It clamped one of their arms between its powerful jaws and ripped it clean off at the shoulder, sending blood flashing from the wound into an astonishing pool, which spread away at shocking speed.

Then the lion paused and looked up at Hermione, his eyes locked intently on hers. She backed away in mindless terror, expecting to feel those long fangs ripping into her throat at any second ... only to suddenly freeze stock-still in numbing surprise. For she _knew_ those eyes ... emerald green, startling to behold. Familiarity and understanding flared between them. The lion dropped the severed arm and mewled lowly at the phoenix, who responded with another quavering note of untold beauty, before her talons curled into Hermione's jumper and whipped her away in a swirl of fire, as the lion bared his razor-sharp teeth again.

* * *

When the flames died, Hermione found herself in a very cold, shadowy circular room. The phoenix had not reappeared with her. Wherever she had been deposited, she was quite alone. She stood slowly, gingerly. Her knees were slightly weak and her thighs trembled against the cold air. There was low lying mist, at no more than ankle level. There were no windows, no roof that Hermione could discern. It might have been a prison.

But Hermione didn't feel that.

She couldn't have said why, but she felt quite safe here. Calm, despite the drama of her exit from the flat. The very walls and floor seemed to hum with a type of subdued energy. It seeped up through her shoes, warmed her skin. There was something comforting about it. It was all very confusing.

A door opened in the darkness and a robed wizard entered. Hermione held her breath for only a second, but it wasn't Harry, she could tell that from his walk and posture. Okay, so it had been five years, but his body shape was all wrong. This wizard was a bit too rounded, whereas Harry was all wiry and angular in his movements. The wizard approached her, stopping barely a few feet away. Hermione only then realised she was on a raised platform of sorts, a circular elevation at the centre of the room, sort of like a stage.

Then the wizard spoke. "Hello, Hermione."

Hermione's breathing literally stopped for a full ten seconds. " _Neville!_ Neville _Longbottom?_ Is that you under there?"

"Yes, Hermione, it's me."

He threw back his hood. But in the dark, Hermione still couldn't really see him. She remembered how he looked last, startled and surprised as he beheaded Voldemort's snake, only to mysteriously vanish himself as the Dark Lord advanced on him. Hermione had thought him to be long dead.

"How is this possible? How are you still alive?" she whispered. Her breath rose as hot steam in front of her. "Can I at least see your face?"

"You haven't stopped being full of questions then," Neville quirked. "It's comforting to know that, despite everything, you're still under there somewhere."

"Let me _see_ you, Neville. Please."

As if in answer to her request, the phoenix exploded into the air above them in an arc of golden flame. Torches crackled into life all around the room as the magnificent bird flew in a fast orbit, drenching them in warmth and light. Neville drew his wand and deftly conjured two squashy armchairs at the centre of the raised platform, beckoning Hermione to sit as the phoenix soared above them. It circled Hermione as she sat, before coming to a graceful rest on her knee.

"Oh!" Hermione whispered in surprise as the phoenix let a silvery tear fall onto her heavily bruised thigh, before pushing its head under her jumper and letting another fall against her cracked rib. Both healed instantly in a rush of warm energy. Neville stepped forwards, regarding them both with a highly amused look. But there was anger there, too. A very base sort of hatred for whoever had caused her injuries.

"How curious," he mused. "I see you've met Lily."

"Lily," Hermione repeated.

The phoenix cocked her head and looked deeply into Hermione's eyes. She felt pity and concern flood at her from the beautiful bird, who sung another swooning note. Hermione felt it vibrate in her ribs, in her very soul. She choked back a sob, one of intense relief. She felt something break inside, or maybe it was being healed. She wasn't certain. She wanted to hug the bird, but she settled on a gentle smooth of her lushly-feathered head instead. The phoenix trilled in contentment.

Then Hermione's breathing hitched, as understanding struck hard. " _Lily ..._ Neville is ... is this _Harry's_ phoenix?"

Neville smiled warmly and nodded. Lily sung out again in joy at the mention of her master. Hermione felt certain she would faint at the news. She gripped the armrest of her chair to keep from falling off, gripped so hard, in fact, that her knuckles turned white.

"Named after his mum, obviously," Neville went on. "And she clearly likes you. This is curious bordering on the bizarre."

"You're telling me," Hermione agreed breathily, struggling to maintain her composure.

"No, that's not what I mean," said Neville, still eyeing them with acute interest. "Lily has never gone to another person as far as I know. Never allowed another hand to even _pet_ her ... let alone _initiate_ physical contact with them herself. Not even _me_. Truth be told, I'm a little bit upset by this display."

He grinned wryly. Hermione, who was unsure of this phantom vision from her past, was glad to see his soft humour. It stilled her stirring worry. She returned Neville's smile as he sat opposite her finally, allowing Hermione to get a proper look at him. He looked unspeakably older. Far more than the five years that had passed since they'd last met. His eyes were darker, not just physically, but in an undefinable element of his stare, which he now fixed on Hermione. It was like meeting an estranged twin rather than an old friend.

"So this ... I mean, _she ..._ does belong to Harry?"

Neville nodded, grinning at the look of disbelief Hermione could only imagine now crossing her face.

"Then ... he is ... _alive_?"

Neville's face went stony, neutral. Hermione imagined this as a reflex to the question, as though it weren't his first time deflecting it. But he seemed stumped in the face of _her,_ as though somehow _she_ required a different answer to his stock response.

"Neville, please ... is Harry alive?"

Neville sighed. "Yes. Yes he is."

A hearty cry escaped Hermione's throat as hot tears stung at her eyes. She was powerless to stop them. This news had broken her, _devastated her_ , and she wasn't sure how to process it, or even if she _could._ There wasn't a name to adequately define the emotion she was feeling, so she fired off questions to distract her stampeding mind.

"How? How can that be?" she begged. "I saw him die ... we all did. What did I see, Neville?"

"You saw Harry after he was cursed by that dumb moron Tom Riddle," said Neville harshly. Hermione had never heard his voice as angry and militant as this. "It's a curse that half-dead snake fucker will sorely regret, trust me. When Harry gets his hands on him ..."

Neville tailed off and closed his eyes with a dark grin. The look of enjoyment at _whatever_ it was he was envisaging made something stir in Hermione's chest. She swatted it down, not wanting to invite it into her mind.

For it felt teasingly like _hope_.

"So ... where is he?" Hermione asked. She looked around, half-expecting him to stride out of the shadows. "Can I see him?"

"You _have_ seen him. As for where he is, I think - about now - he's probably mopping up what remains of Mr Malfoy's entourage," said Neville, dryly.

 _Oh my god_. Hermione tried to process the information. It flowed over her like a tide of gritty sand. She had suspected it at the flat, but to have it confirmed was something else.

"Harry was ... he ... _A_ _nimagus?"_

Neville laughed aloud at Hermione's breath-taken surprise. "It was the first thing we learned together. Entry level processes to get used to higher level magic. Harry mastered it within eight months. I can barely change without feeling like my limbs are being torn apart. I don't recommend it."

" _You_ are an Animagus?" asked Hermione, immediately ashamed at her tone of surprise. Neville raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem offended. "Sorry, I didn't mean ..."

"It's fine," said Neville with another chuckle. "I only started to express my true magical potential after I broke my Dad's wand and took my own. It took me years to catch up. Working so closely with Harry has certainly helped. He's an extraordinary wizard. The things he's doing with magic ..."

"Nev ... I _have_ to see him," Hermione moaned lowly. "I've missed him _so_ much. I cant _believe_ he's still alive ... that _any_ of this is actually happening! I'm _aching_ not being able to tell him how much I've missed him."

Neville sighed sadly. "You may never be able to tell him."

"Why not?"

"I don't think Harry will actually consent to seeing you," said Neville, simply.

Hermione shifted in her seat. "And why not?"

Neville wrung his hands awkwardly in his lap. "You have to understand, Hermione, Harry has changed. He's ... _different_. He's pretty confident you wont like the new him. Also, he is pretty sure _you_ wont want to _see_ him. He's terrifically guilty, you see. He thinks you hate him ... he certainly hates himself."

"For what?"

"For leaving you. For entrusting you to that ... to the man who should have ... to ..."

Neville's tone was laced with such acidic hatred that Hermione was taken aback by it. She even sat back to avoid being covered by the vitriol spewing from Neville's lips.

"To Ron?" Hermione asked, cautiously.

Neville hissed like someone had poured lime juice into an open wound in his eye. The room around them seemed to vibrate with anger, and markings on the floor - which Hermione hadn't been able to see in the darkness - flared violently in vivid colours of reds and blues and purples. Even Lily spat viciously as the name of the most reviled wizard in Harry Potter's world echoed around them. Hermione could do little but blink in her shock.

"Do _not_ say _his_ name around here!" Neville scythed, darkly. "It's enough to make Harry destroy a few research labs, a potions store and several endangered magical creatures ... and that's on a good day. Do us all a favour, and don't incite that _particular_ bit of Harry's rage. Nothing else will stoke his worst feelings quite as much as mentioning _him._ "

Hermione felt her mouth drop open. "Okay, I'm sorry and I ... I'll try. But ... why, Neville? Why does Harry get so passionate about that? I don't understand."

Neville shook his head at her. "For the brightest witch of our age, you are acting very dumb. In fact, you're as stubborn as Harry on this issue."

Hermione sat stock still as though petrified, though she couldn't have said why. Neville took her silence as a further indication of her denseness.

"Harry wont thank me for saying this, but this is the only area in which he shows any sort of cowardess ... so I suppose I'd better, for his own good," Neville began with a dry smirk. "It would be doing my Blood Brother a disservice if I didn't."

"Blood Brother?"

"Yes, we performed a ritual," said Neville. "We were both touched by the Prophecy. Riddle could have picked either of us. Fate had gifted us both with such a powerful basis of magic that either of us could have been the child of the prophecy. Riddle picked one, but that didn't mean the other was diminished. Harry sought me out as soon as he could after finding that out, as soon as he knew what we could become by uniting our powers. We bonded through blood, became more powerful as brothers than we'd ever have been as individuals, and we declared Riddle a mortal enemy of us both. Seriously, that serpentine fuckwit has no _idea_ what's coming at him."

Hermione was stirred again. It brought tears of excitement to the back of her eyes. Neville wasn't even in doubt about this ... it might as well have been a foregone conclusion. He and Harry were going to do battle with - and _beat_ \- the darkness of Voldemort. It would have been such a ludicrous idea just a few hours ago, but Hermione found herself daring to believe it.

"So ... this disservice?" she prompted.

Neville grinned at her. "Harry cares for you more deeply than you have ever, or likely will ever, know. Perhaps more deeply than he'd ever be able to confess to you. This isn't new. He always has. But you know Harry, he's still as stupid as ever where his emotions are concerned. Cant blame him, really. Our bond allowed us to share memories ... and fuck me, Hermione ... the _abuse_ he had to put up with as a child! I'm amazed he formed even the most basic of relationships after that. Living in a bloody _cupboard_ for eleven years ... _eleven years,_ Hermione! How could anyone do that to a child?"

Hermione couldn't answer that. She felt as if the bottom had just fallen out of her world. Her anguish was all-consuming ... she couldn't process it. Harry had lived in a _what_ ... a _cupboard?_... for _eleven years_? Neville had to be wrong. Harry had never said a thing about that. And the emphasis Neville had put on abuse .... well, Hermione knew all about _that_ , it was part and parcel of her life after all. But to imagine an infant Harry going through it ... someone might as well have sliced at Hermione's heart with a jagged dagger.

Though even within this wave of grief was something infinitely more intoxicating. Neville's earnest admission that Harry cared so deeply for her sparked something within Hermione's heart, an emotion that she had practically forgotten how to feel. It was so alien now that she tried to swat it away at first. She wasn't used to feeling such things ... feeling _cared for ..._ feeling _liked_... these were things that belonged in a parallel universe.

But here was Harry ... absent still, but shattering Hermione's dark world by offering her care and affection from his unseen spot. How far that might have stretched, Hermione couldn't begin to guess - or hope - right now, but it ignited in her chest and spread like wildfire throughout her entire being. It was a _long_ time since she'd felt this _light_. But she still had more questions.

"So why wont Harry see me?" Hermione asked tentatively. "If he cares so much, as you say, he must still consider me a friend?"

"He doesn't think you are _his_ friend," Neville explained. "Much of this is for Harry to say, not me."

"But if he wont see me ..."

"Then you'll just have to accept his protection without ever seeing him," Neville returned, flatly. "It might be the best you can hope for."

"Neville, you really aren't making any sense," said Hermione. "Cant you at least explain what's happened tonight?"

Neville scrutinised her. "Okay, maybe that I can do. It might help you understand the other things. To start with, Riddle didn't kill Harry five years ago. Accept that as your new truth, process it, absorb it. Harry has spent the entire time since preparing himself to fight that Dark Bastard and beat him for good. He didn't come back sooner because he couldn't, but that's for him to explain, not me.

"But he didn't know how badly you were suffering until recently ... you _have_ to believe that. And he fucking hates himself for it. He thought that absolute shitehawk Weasley would have protected you. He blames himself almost entirely for all that you've suffered. The only reason ... I repeat, _the only reason_... he resurfaced tonight is because you were in serious and mortal danger. Harry came out of the shadows, took up the fight again ... and all because of _you._ Nothing else would have compelled him to do it ... so make of that what you will."

Hermione felt herself fall apart at the admission, her heart waking up after a five-year hibernation and banging so hard against her ribs it almost hurt. It was a sort of pain that she was almost euphoric to be able to feel again. But Neville wasn't done.

"The Death Eaters will know it was him who saved you tonight," Neville continued. "They've been _pasted_ by his lion form before. He's just not surfaced in such a direct confrontation until now. And like I said, defending _you_ is the only catalyst that would have made Harry do it. Soon enough, Voldemort will know his mortal enemy is back and ready to fight. We weren't sure Harry was entirely ready ... but _they_ didn't know how fucking stupid they were to attack _you_ , what they would set alight in him! Dumb bastards. I almost feel sorry for the sheer idiocy of them!

"Attack Hermione Granger? ... _I_ wouldn't ... it is the only thing _guaranteed_ to make Harry Potter want to _kill."_

Hermione gasped in shock, but Neville's words did nothing to still her overworked heart. She clutched at her chest to try and catch her breath.

"What are you trying to say, Neville?"

Neville smirked back. "Now that is _definitely_ something that is not for me to tell you! That one's all on Harry ... though I doubt he'll ever have the courage to say it. Just do me a favour, if you _do_ see him ... don't hate him."

"Why would I hate him? That's nonsense!"

"Not in his mind, and - as I've shared it - not in mine either. He thinks he left you to your fate, he thinks that's your opinion, too. It might be. It's rational."

"But where did he go for all these years? What happened to him?"

"That's a story for him to tell, if he ever decides to," said Neville, dismissively. "Harry doesn't speak very much these days. I wouldn't get your hopes up."

"But he is alive," she said, almost to herself. The words still left her in shock and awe as they hung in her ears. "Is he well? Healthy?"

Neville grinned and laughed. "He's at war. Make of that what you will."

Hermione's heart ached. Harry was alive ... he wouldn't see her, but he was alive. It was worse in some ways. Hermione couldn't get her head around the way this day had gone.

Then Lily the phoenix began to sing in a gorgeous aria. Hermione felt the quavering notes vibrate all through her body. They energized her, as though she had just jammed her finger into a plug socket. She felt unreasonably happy as the beautiful bird sang on her knee. Sang _to_ her, as bizarre as the notion seemed.

"Lily's happy," Hermione whispered to Neville, almost in surprise. "I can _feel_ it."

"Well of course she's happy," said Neville. "Harry's home."


	4. The Terrible Head Dragon

**Disclaimer:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery, frank sex discussions, the fucking fucking Weasleys. I'm exploring dark places in my writing, this story reflects that. Be warned.

* * *

The door to the chamber opened again. Hermione looked up expectantly, her heart yearning for Harry. But, again, it was not he who entered. A witch was approaching them at a swift pace. She was similarly robed to Neville and she moved with a grace and ease that Hermione envied. She'd never really walked properly since that time she'd been disciplined by Ron for staying out too late on one of Susan Bones' birthday parties. Her hips ached appropriately as the memory struck her.

The witch stepped up onto the platform and stopped at Neville's side.

"Harry's injured and he needs us immediately," she said sharply, worry etched into every nuance of her voice. "We need to prepare the ritual circle for healing right away."

Neville stood. "Where are your manners?" he admonished. "We have guests."

The witch pulled back her hood. Hermione saw that she was astonishingly beautiful. Porcelain skin framed by shiny black hair, which fell past her shoulders in shimmering waves. She had bottle-green eyes and a soft look, that made Hermione think of the sun coming out after the rain. And the way she spoke about Harry ... it made Hermione unreasonably jealous.

She needn't have worried.

"Hermione, may I introduce my - rather uncouth - wife, Enola," said Neville, sliding an arm around the witch's waist. She smiled back warmly. The affection between them resonated off the pair like a visceral heat. Hermione felt that jealousy and longing surge again.

"Wife?" she repeated, gathering her senses. "Congratulations, Nev. You've gone from dead to married in the space of half an hour!"

Enola laughed and held out a dainty hand for Hermione to shake. "If you like _that,_ wait till you hear about our daughter!"

"Daughter?" said Hermione, her mouth forming a perfect 'o'. "You brought a child into a world like this? You must be very brave."

Neville fixed her with a steely determined look, but it was his wife who answered.

"She wasn't planned," said Enola, smiling adoringly at Neville. "But she was the happiest accident we could have imagined. Besides, when Harry and Neville fix this broken world, it will be quite the beautiful playground for her. And she's very safe here with Harry to look after her. We aren't worried on that score."

Hermione could only blink as she tried to process everything. "Is she ... I mean...has she shown any signs of witchcraft?"

"Alison is barely one year old," Neville explained. "She has learned to turn the nightlight of her crib on and off, but that's about it. Accidental magic doesn't come easily in my family. But I'm sure her babbling counts as advanced spell work in her little mind!"

Neville and Enola shared a fond laugh.

"I'd love to meet her, if you'll allow me," said Hermione. "Merlin, it's been so long since I've had anything to be happy about. Meeting a baby might be just the tonic."

"You'd have to prize her away from the in-laws," said Enola in a good-natured huff. "I can hardly get a cuddle with my own daughter when those two are around."

Hermione stared at Neville. He grinned at her. "But your parents, Neville ..."

"Were long-stay patients at St. Mungo's, yes," said Neville quickly. "Harry and I liberated them a long time ago. We knew that Riddle and his Cleansing Squads would get rid of the elderly and the infirm first to make way for their _new order_ insanity. The permanently baffled were high on that list too. Harry rescued them a couple of years back."

"And you leave your daughter with them ... _alone!_ " cried Hermione. "Is that _wise?_ You know ... considering their condition."

It was Enola who grinned this time. "She doesn't know, does she?" she queried at her husband. Neville shook his head with a wry grin. They seemed to be taking great delight in shedding wondrous light on Hermione's world.

"Frank and Alice are perfectly well," Enola explained to Hermione's confused look, which became one of wide-eyed surprise as she listened on. "Harry devised a complex ritual which, with my Nev's help, managed to repair the damage to their minds. They are quite sane these days. Well, as sane as a Longbottom can be!"

Neville and Enola laughed together. The sound was like honey to Hermione. She genuinely couldn't remember the last time she'd heard genuine mirth. She looked at Neville in astonishment.

"I told you," said Neville, smiling. "The things Harry is doing with magic these days ... well, they'd take your breath away. Even _you'd_ be impressed by them!"

"Speaking of our Lord and Master," said Enola. "He'll be waiting. We need to get the space cleaned."

"Right you are, love," said Neville. He offered Hermione a hand and she stood from the armchair. "We have to prepare this space for ritual, Hermione. Only Harry and his Inner Circle of mages can be in here for that. Let us get you settled so you can rest. Enola can show you to your room."

"My room? I have a _room_... here? I don't understand."

"Ennie will explain as much as she can," said Neville. "Harry's been intending to bring you here for the longest time. He expected you to be coming with that red-headed prick you excuse for a husband, but the suite he prepared will be just yours now. Don't even bother arguing about it. You aren't going anywhere. Harry wont allow you out of his sight now that he's brought you to safety."

"But he wont _actually_ see me?" Hermione queried.

"Harry doesn't need eyes to see, not in this place at least," said Neville shrewdly. "And a good thing, too."

He chortled and Enola joined in, somewhat guiltily. Hermione was confused again by their secret knowledge.

"Come on, Miss Hermione, let's get out of here so the boys can play with their little symbols," said Enola, taking Hermione's hand from Neville.

Whether from the drama of the evening, the shock of Neville's story, or the sheer overwhelming emotion of learning that Harry was still alive, but Hermione suddenly found she was stupefied beyond the point of resistance. Tiredness was hitting hard as she began to move. She barely registered Neville's instruction for Enola to administer her a dreamless sleep potion before she was being escorted from the chamber.

"And don't you go getting too exhausted in the cleansing," said Enola seriously. "Alison's with your parents tonight. If you're quick, maybe there's a lucky _quickie_ in it for you in our martial bed."

"And if I take too long to come?" asked Neville, an eyebrow cocked.

"Then _I'll_ be the lucky one _,_ if you'd prefer."

"I would _definitely_ prefer," said Neville. He leaned in and pecked his wife on the cheek. "You keep that filth for later."

"You know I will," said Enola. She turned and guided Hermione away from the ritual chamber and out of a different side door to the one she'd entered via.

* * *

Hermione was mindless of her surroundings as they walked. She was loosely aware of handsome corridors, like that of a stately home, but little else. It was dimly lit, but not by candlelight. Hermione totted up the new questions that arose in her foggy mind. She was on one hundred and twelve by now. She allowed herself to be led up a large flight of red and gold carpeted stairs and into a vast sitting chamber, and further on into a spacious circular bedroom.

Enola helped Hermione to sit on the bed. It was firm but comfy and seemed to mould itself to the contours of her body. Enola drew a slim, whitewood wand and cast a Concealing Charm over Hermione from the neck down, before easing her out of her clothes. She was powerless to protest, but Neville's wife was gentle and considerate and Hermione felt safe in her hands. Enola frowned at each bruise on Hermione's skin, dark even through the shimmering cloak of the charm.

"Then it's true what he's been doing to you?" Enola muttered angrily. "No wonder Harry is so furious."

Hermione tried to regain some cogency. "Do you know Harry well?"

Enola smiled. "Very. He performed the Marriage Bond for me and Nev. And he's Alison's Godfather. He dotes on her like she's his own. She may be the only human not terrified of him at first sight, because of his scar, obviously. I think he loves her fiercely for that. I couldn't have wished for a better brother-in-law."

Hermione felt her heart swell at the tender tone in Enola's voice. She felt a pang of longing cut through her chest. The need to see Harry was intense just now. Then she swung back into the conversation.

"His scar isn't _that_ bad."

Enola started. She looked down guiltily. "Oh, shit, I forgot how much you don't know. Nev will be pissed with me for giving that away. He'll spank me for it ... well, if I'm lucky."

She winked at Hermione, then looked horrified in the next breath. "Oh, Hermione, I'm _so_ sorry ... I didn't think ... forgive me, that was such a thoughtless thing to say!"

"There's nothing to forgive," said Hermione through a weak smile, thrown a little by Enola's pained tone. "I know there's a difference between _that kind_ of spanking and being whacked across the thighs with a sharp-napped paddle for being disobedient. Or being punched in the face. Unfortunately, I've only experienced the _la_ _tter_ of the two. I'll just have to take your word that the first type is something to be considered _lu_ _cky_ for getting."

Enola couldn't resist anymore. She pulled Hermione into a bone-breaking hug. "You poor, poor thing! I'm so sorry for you. It wont make up for it, I know, but _you_ should know that Harry plans to punish your husband just as badly as Tom Riddle for what he's done to you. He speaks even more bitterly about him than the Twat Lord, if you can imagine it. And when Harry talks angrily, things tend to blow up or shatter ... or people die. I wouldn't want to be in either of their shoes with Harry as my enemy."

Hermione's chest swirled again. She couldn't help it. She wasn't one to normally advocate violence, but the last five years had conditioned her to thinking it was simply part of life now. The very thought that Harry was so angry with Ron over his treatment of her that his very _words_ would smash him to pieces ... well, there was something darkly stirring about that.

"You should get some rest, Miss Hermione," said Enola, holding open the covers and coaxing Hermione under them. "I'll find you a nightie and a dressing gown for the morning. You're okay to sleep in just your underwear for tonight?"

"Yes, and thank you, Enola," said Hermione. "I can call you that, can't I?"

"Well, it is my name," said Enola, grinning lightly.

"You've been so kind. Thank you."

"It's the least I can do," said Enola. "I get the feeling no-one has shown you any sort of love in a good while. And I hope we can be friends. I'd like to think I'd get on with the person Harry speaks the most highly about in the world. I've been ever so keen to meet you for the longest time."

Hermione felt herself blush. What had happened to make Harry express such sentiments about her? It was curious to say the least. It did nothing to ease the ache of knowing he was so close, but apparently determined to keep his distance from her. She wanted to go and shake the silliness out of him. But this was tempered by the notion that 'silly' wasn't something to be associated with Harry Potter these days. There was that undeniable edge in the tones of people who spoke about him. It painted him as dangerous.

"Do you think Harry will see me tomorrow?"

Enola sighed sadly. "No, not tomorrow. The healing ritual will tire him out. He'll need to rest up himself."

"Was he badly injured?" asked Hermione, sitting up.

"Don't you worry yourself about that," said Enola, rounding the bed and fluffing the pillows for Hermione to lay back on. "Harry's as tough as treated dragonhide. And Neville and the other members of his Inner Circle will fix him up good as new. He wouldn't be thrilled to think you were bothering yourself about it. He thinks you're worth taking a injury or two, so just put it from your mind. If the lights flicker a bit, don't panic. These rituals require a lot of power. Harry will pull it from all over the palace if he needs it."

"Palace?"

Enola laughed. "It'll all be explained, don't worry. You just need to get some rest. Do you need a potion to help you sleep?"

"No, I'm exhausted to tell the truth," Hermione confessed. She bit on her bottom lip nervously. "Would you mind sitting with me until I drift off? Just in case I change my mind on that potion?"

"Of course," Enola smiled. She really was breathtakingly beautiful. She brushed a lock of stray hair tenderly from Hermione's temple. "You poor girl. You must be wiped out by all this."

Hermione nodded her agreement.

"Don't worry. Get a good nights sleep and it'll all start to look better in the morning. I promise These beds are spelled so you'll be well rested when you get up."

"Thank you again," said Hermione, yawning widely. Three seconds later and she was in the deepest sleep she'd had in years.

* * *

Harry stood up from the centre of the ritual circle. The rune markings around the dais dimmed as the ritual ended. Neville drew his wand and pulled the remaining magic from them, slashed a new shape in the air - which looked like a crooked goalpost of red fire - and infused it with the lingering magic. This he then pressed into Harry's back as he gingerly got to his feet. Harry groaned as the healing rune swept through him.

"Thanks," he croaked. "You're getting good at that."

Neville grinned. "I've been practising with Enola."

"For fucks sake, Nev," said Harry, pulling his hood back on. "I do _not_ want to know about you and Ennie and your runic sex, if that's the direction you are heading with this."

"Why not? You taught me the theory on how to do it. I thought you'd like to know about the fruits of your labour."

"Neville - shut up," said Harry.

"I have to do Healing spells to calm her down afterwards, though," Neville continued, conversationally. "You never told me I'd need to do _that_."

Harry shook his head and tightened the shawl he wore over his face. He took a steadying breath, glancing briefly at Neville from the corner of his eye. "How is she?"

"Normally so turned on I can get her to a screaming orgasm without even touching her!" Neville laughed.

Harry huffed. "I'll tell Enola you're sharing all this with me, you know."

"Go ahead," said Neville, unabashed. "You know you're welcome to join us any time. She's often suggested I invite you along."

"Fuck me, Nev!" Harry exclaimed.

"That's _kind_ of the idea, but as _technically_ we're related ..."

"I will curse that filth out of you," said Harry, lowly. Neville just laughed. "You know what I meant ... how's _Hermion_ e?"

"Wounded beyond belief," Neville replied, sighing deeply. "I wont lie ... she's worse than we imagined. Who am I kidding? She's a _lot_ worse, but you'll see that for yourself."

Harry clenched his fists, his jaw grinding. The runes in the room flickered angrily again. Neville placed a firm hand on Harry's chest and he was too incensed to brush him off. He didn't like to be touched, not even by his Blood Brother. But he allowed it now as they breathed together, helping Harry to master his searing rage, pushing it into the well he was building. It had the potency of a small nuclear device at this point.

"Don't waste that," Neville hissed warningly. "Now isn't the time."

"I know, I know," said Harry, his breath coming in ragged, shallow spurts. "I just cant bear to think of her in such agony ... to think that I might have prevented it ..."

"Now's not the time for _that_ , either," Neville went on stoutly. "She wants to see you, Harry, she's desperate to. And she doesn't blame you for what happened, no matter how much you want to convince yourself that she does. You should give her more credit, you know. She's stronger even than your self-loathing. It's mightily impressive, considering what she's been through."

"I know that, too," said Harry, pulling away. "I just _can't,_ Nev. I don't deserve to. After all I did to her ..."

"You didn't do anything, brother," said Neville turning Harry firmly by the shoulders. He was one of the few people that Harry ever let this close, let alone allowed to touch him. Anyone else would have been ashes by now. "That cunt Weasley did all this to her. _All of it._ He failed her in every imaginable way ... as a former best friend _and_ a forced husband. If you'd had guessed what was happening to Hermione you'd have kidnapped her years ago, you know that."

Harry sighed deeply, painfully. "She'll never forgive me. Not if she's as bad as you say."

"Her physical wounds will heal," said Neville. "Her emotional ones will be harder, but if you bring her into ritual, we can cleanse her of those, too. She wants to see you, she _needs to_. And you know what? You need to, too. You don't want to admit it, but you need _her_ to heal _you_. Do yourself a favour, Harry ... go to her. Let _her_ fix all that's broken with you. Fix each other, for fucks sake. Then just shag each other's brains out like you should have back at Hogwarts!"

Harry couldn't stop a laugh at this. He didn't approve of his own laughter as a rule. There wasn't much call for it in his life these days. But the idea of shagging Hermione was as laughable as it was desired. She'd never let him that close, and even if she did she'd be repulsed by him when she saw his condition. He pulled up his scarf under his hood as he thought about it, hiding his scar.

"I can't see her, Nev. Not yet. She wont understand."

"No, she wont," Neville agreed. "But you'd better find somewhere good to hide, because if I know Hermione, she'll be plotting seven different ways to find you, whether you like it or not."

* * *

The morning light suffused the pink lilies in the big vase on the windowsill. It was a bizarrely pretty sight for Hermione to wake up to. She was used to the drab grey of the bedroom she was assigned at the Hengest camp manor. This room was elegant, furnished with taste and beautifully decorated. It was like something out of a Regency novel.

The window had been opened slightly and a slight breeze was filtering in. May was proving to be quite a warm one this year and Hermione was glad of the airiness of the room. The fluffy quilt was lovely and comforting, but a little stifling in the early morning warmth. Not that she was about to complain. She stretched on the huge bed and yawned with a creaky groan. Then she was startled by a little squeak.

"Ah! Miss Hermione not supposed to be awake! She not supposed to see!"

Hermione sat up, startled, to see a little house-elf at the foot of the bed. She was laying out a cotton night-dress and a long, cosy dressing gown. She froze as Hermione looked at her.

"Hello," said Hermione sleepily.

"Miss Hermione not supposed to see!" the elf whispered again. She was visibly shaking. "Master Harry be _very_ clear. Oh! He be so cross when he finds out."

Hermione frowned. "Harry will be cross with you? Because I've seen you?"

The elf nodded. "Master Harry know Miss Hermione's thinkings on house-elves. Though she be totally wrong, he knows her thinkings. And he be so cross now!"

Hermione was shocked by the elf's panicked air. "Harry wont _punish_ you, will he?"

The elf snorted at that. "Master Harry? Punish an elf? Oh no. But he request me do other jobs, and I _so_ wanted this one. All elves did. I did Dance of Joy for six hours when I got picked."

"Picked for what?"

"To take care of Miss Hermione," said the elf, hopping up onto the bed. "All elves be wanting the job of looking after Master Harry's favouritest witch, and Master Harry be picking me, even though I be one of the youngest. No job in the world more important to Master Harry than that. He be wanting to do it himself, most probably, but because he cant he had to choose very carefully for the elf to take care of his favouritest witch. And he be picking me."

Hermione blushed furiously at the elf's gushing words, and the sentiment behind them. She decided that when she finally found Harry she was either going to slap him silly or kiss him senseless at this rate. She just hadn't decided which just yet.

"But now Master Harry be sending me to the greenhouses or something," said the elf sadly. "Miss Hermione only been here two days and Sally gets herself seen already."

"Sally? Is that your name?" the elf nodded. "Wait ... two days? I've been here _two days_?"

"Two days after yous first night," Sally explained, simply. "Miss Hermione be very tired, need to rest a lot. Master Harry came in and did the prettiest spells on you, too. You sleep like baby Ally after them. Though Master Harry not sing lullabies to _you_. Sally thinks this for the best, Miss! Master Harry be good at a lot of things ... singing lullabies not high on his skill set, though!"

The elf giggled guiltily.

Hermione was sat fully up now. "Did you say Harry came in to see me?"

"Yes, Miss," said Sally, excitedly. She seemed to enjoy talking about Harry. "Only when he sure you be sleeping, Miss. Sally had to triple-look in case you be cheating at sleeping. Then Master Harry come in and just sit with you for hours. Then he cast pretty spells on you before he goes away. Healing ones, Miss. Powerful. Sally not seen the like, even from an elf."

Hermione fluttered all over. The images swashing about in her brain were enough to make her giddy even though she was still sat in bed. But she was sensible enough to know that she felt better, more so than she had in years. She was energetic, invigorated. She wanted to get up and run about. It was a weird sensation.

"Is Harry here now?" she asked.

"Oh no, Miss," said Sally, smoothing a crease from the nightgown. "Master Harry always be coming and going, Miss. And now he be going. But he be back. He always come back."

"Where's he gone?"

"Sally not be knowing this, Miss. Master Harry have lots of secrets. Only Master Neville know, and not even he half the time."

There was a little _pop_ and another elf blinked into view. This one was older, and much sterner looking. Her bulb like eyes swelled when she saw Hermione and Sally openly chatting.

"Sally-elf!" she admonished. "Yous be being _seen,_ silly elf! Master Harry be so cross with you when he knows!"

"Please tell Harry not to be cross," Hermione pleaded. "I woke up early and saw Sally. It's my fault. Please, tell Harry not to punish her."

The elder elf looked swarthily at Hermione. "Master Harry never punish an elf, 'cept by being disappointed in them."

"That punishment enough!" Sally yelped, before abruptly breaking out into peeling sobs.

"Please don't cry," said Hermione, getting up and drawing Sally into a hug as her little body was wracked with rocking tears. She turned to the other elf. "Excuse me, can you tell me your name?"

"I is Rhian, Master Harry's Head Elf," said Rhian proudly, puffing out her little chest.

"Well, Rhian, it's nice to meet you," said Hermione. "Could you please explain to Harry that I saw Sally, not the other way around, and that I'd be very grateful if she could be allowed to continue to look after me. Tell him it would be a great favour to me."

Rhian eyed her blithely. "I be's thinking Miss Hermione already know how to bend Master Harry's will. She know he wont deny her _any_ favour. I be keeping close eye on you, Miss."

Hermione blushed. "Thank you."

"Hmm. Lady Enola be wanting to know if you awake, My Lady. She be looking forward to taking breakfast with you."

Hermione's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. After two full days in bed, she suddenly realised she was very hungry.

"I'd be delighted to, but ... I don't know the way," said Hermione.

"Sally show you, Miss!" cried the younger elf euphorically, bouncing off the bed. "Dressed then brekkie. Come along, Miss. Sally help."

Rhian shook her head, making her large ears flop ridiculously, then popped away to leave them to it. Sally was a vivacious sort of elf. She conjured a dozen outfits before Hermione finally settled on a simple summer dress, floral patterned with a white cotton cardigan to complete the look. Sally then led Hermione back through the house to the breakfast room.

The trip allowed Hermione a better look at her surroundings. The house was expensively decorated, but tastefully so. There was nothing opulent or gaudy about any of the furniture or decorations, but the wealth of its owner was obvious in every piece Hermione saw. Whoever was Mistress of this place must be one lucky witch, she thought to herself. It was like being in an alternate universe, one outside of the dark country now ruled over by Lord Voldemort. Hermione marvelled that such a place could even exist in her modern idea of the world.

Sally led Hermione back to the ground floor, where she opened the doors to a pretty parlour and bowed Hermione inside before scuttling away. The windows were full East and sunlight steamed in from the floor-to-ceiling panes. A large table was set with pastries and toast and crumpets and vats of coffee and tea. Enola was sat there with a few other witches and rose to greet Hermione as she entered the room.

"Hermione! You're awake!" she squealed as she hurried over and slid an arm into hers. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione considered her answer. "Actually, I'm alright ... and in my world that's saying something. Two days of sleep has done me the world of good!"

"I bet," said Enola. "Come on, let me introduce you to the other girls."

There were four other witches at the table. One was an older lady that looked distinctly like Neville. Hermione could only stare in wonder as she was introduced to Alice Longbottom, the famous Auror once tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. That was an experience they had in common and, one day, perhaps they'd get to exchange notes on it. She was holding an infant swaddled in blankets. Little Alison Longbottom - visible by head only - looked like she wasn't going to be free of her Grandmother's grip any time soon. Hermione grinned at the image.

The other three witches were all around Hermione's age. None older than twenty-five. The youngest was Enola's best friend, Cassiopeia, though she promptly told Hermione that she would refuse to respond to her unless she called her Cassie. The other two were called Myfanwy and Angharad, which quickly allowed Hermione to guess their location. Their language was a little more difficult to decipher. The rapid Welsh dialect might as well have been an alien language for all Hermione could understand of it.

"Don't mind Fan and Ann," said Enola, smirking as she watched Hermione fruitlessly trying to dissect their conversation. "When they want to talk dirty to each other, they switch to Welsh. I don't think there is a Welsh word for _cock_ , so it's nice and convenient!"

Cassie and Alice laughed as Hermione blushed.

"First mention of cock and it's not even midday," said Myfanwy shaking her head in mock exasperation. "You _seriously_ need to get laid, Ennie."

"There's always room in our bed," Angharad added, nodding in agreement. "It'll be just like the old days. You can bring back all the vibrators you've borrowed from us. Or just give them to your new friend, here, so long as she doesn't mind sharing! I think her need is greater than ours just now."

Hermione blushed and turned her eyes down shyly.

"Ann, give it a rest," said Alice, quietly. She cooed at the baby in her arms.

Angharad was unmoved. "What? Too soon? She's been battered black and blue by some arsehole wizard, abused beyond the telling of it by the looks of things. If he hasn't ruined her completely, some self-love will be a hell of a therapy."

"Sorry, love," Myfanwy added, leaning over. "Enola told us about your bruises. Don't mind my Ann ... she thinks an orgasm a day can solve any problem!"

Hermione cowered under their collective pity and drew her cardigan tight around her, as though she could disappear into herself if she wished hard enough for it.

Enola reached out and gave her forearm a tentative, comforting squeeze. "Sorry, Hermione, I just _had_ to tell them. I was just so mad when I saw the state you were in. We're here for you if you need anything, anything at all. I hope you know that."

Hermione choked back a sob that slammed into her throat, as tears of gratitude stung behind her eyes. Words utterly failed her ... the care of strangers was such an alien concept these days, she didn't know what she was supposed to do with it.

"She wont need fake cock anyway," Myfanwy went on, hoping to lighten the mood. "If _Harry's_ attention to her these last two days is anything to go by, she'll have him on tap if she wants it."

Myfanwy winked at Hermione, who stared back and flushed more furiously still. What _had_ Harry been doing to her while she dozed away?

"Fan!" cried Enola. "For Merlin's sake! The girl has been through hell and back. Sleeping with Harry is the last thing she's thinking about right now!"

"Bollocks," Myfanwy retorted dismissively, taking a crumpet and buttering it. "Let's be fair, we'd all shag the shite out of Harry given half the chance. And I'm a pussy girl, myself, but I still wouldn't kick him out of bed!"

"It doesn't even matter about the one eye thing," Cassie pondered over her tea cup. "It's the _other_ thing with one eye that matters. And I bet _that_ works all too well!"

Myfanwy laughed deeply in response, but Enola looked at Cassie in pointed horror. She hissed an admonishment at her. "Cass! She doesn't _know!"_

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. The air around the table had become suddenly dense and serious.

"Oh crap," said Cassie, utterly ashamed. "I'm really sorry. I didn't think ..."

"What don't I know?" asked Hermione, trying to keep her voice steady.

"A hell of lot about where we are, and what's happened to Harry since you last saw him," said Alice, taking on the mantle of mouthpiece. She placed her teacup into her saucer with careful movements. "Forgive us, Hermione, we forget that you've been in the throes of that hellish world out there and what it's likely done to you. We take what we have here for granted, so we can laugh and joke, and talk lightly about sex toys, and about how Harry sets off the woman in all of us, even at the breakfast table where such talk doesn't belong. The _real_ world seems like another universe sometimes and we forget our sensibilities. Forgive us ... we must seem so crass and inappropriate to you."

"No, it's fine," Hermione smiled. "It's just so strange to hear sex discussed so ... casually. Not only that, but so _enjoyably._ It's completely different to what I'm used to. _Girl talk_ in my world is nothing like this."

"That's mostly Harry's doing," said Myfanwy, her voice much softer now. "He's done so much to provide us with a protected world here. If we go over the top, it's mostly harmless banter between us girls."

"But Harry has provided us with an environment of safety and love," Enola went on. "And the making of that love is highly encouraged! There is enough hate being made in the world ... Harry doesn't tolerate any such darkness here."

"Not just Harry, but Neville, too," added Angharad, nodding in salute at Enola, who swelled with pride. "They have both worked so hard for us all."

"But it has come at a price," Alice went on. "They both have the battle scars to prove it. Harry's are more obvious, but I know my boy suffers much more than he lets on."

Hermione shook in horror. Harry had _more_ scars? Was that what Enola meant about her daughter not judging Harry as she was only a baby? How bad was it?

"Harry's scar ... is this something new ... something I haven't seen?"

Hermione got her answer in the pointed, non-verbal responses of the other girls. Both Myfanwy and Angharad visibly winced, Enola shifted in her seat and ground her jaw, and Cassie scrunched her eyes tight, gulping her tea with an icy shiver.

Alice, however, was staunchly unmoved as she turned to Hermione and nodded her own answer. "It's not the most pleasant thing, to be sure."

"How bad it is?"

"No, Alice, you mustn't tell her!" Enola squeaked. "Harry will be incredibly cross with you if you do!"

"It isn't right that we _don't_ tell her, that she meet him unprepared," Alice disagreed. "Harry can tell me off all he likes, but this is for the best. He'll agree in the end."

"For the best?" Hermione asked. "Why?"

"Because I know that Harry is pinning a lot of hope on you not completely hating and rejecting him on sight," Alice explained kindly. "He wont say a word of it, of course, but it's the worst kept secret in the entire palace. I'd hate for him to be so devastated by your reaction to his scar that he retreats back into himself again. It's taken so long to get him out of that dark place. Enola can testify to _that_."

Enola sighed in resigned agreement and closed her eyes. Hermione frowned slightly. There was something deep and intimate inferred about the relationship Enola had with Harry and, despite her marriage to Neville, Hermione couldn't help but dislike it. She had no reason to, no claim to dominion over Harry, but there it was. If she didn't think it so illogical, she might have called it _jealousy._

"Please tell me about the scar," Hermione implored. "I need to know everything and Harry wont see me to tell me himself. Please, ladies, the last thing I want is to hurt Harry through my own ignorant stupidity. Don't do this for my selfish need, but to protect _him_. Please."

"It happened when he was cursed in the Forbidden Forest," Enola blurted out suddenly, taking over from Alice. "Try to understand, Hermione, Killing Curses leave a hell of an impression when they hit their victims, and _this_ one struck Harry directly in the face. Tom Riddle was _very_ angry with Harry when he tried to kill him that night five years ago. The curse reflects that, so try not to react _too_ badly when you see it. Most people are shocked to their foundations on first glance, so Harry keeps his face hidden beneath shawls and scarves almost all of the time. It's a reflexive response and Harry understands that ... sort of. But that sound - of a disgusted gasp of shocked horror - is a sure-fire way to make Harry shut down in front of your eyes. I've seen it happen. It takes a little bit of light from his face each time it does."

"He covers his face with a shawl!" Hermione whispered in powerful pity. "How _big_ is this scar then?"

"It's big," Enola confessed sadly. "Harry wraps his head like a sort of turban, leaving just enough gaps to see and talk and eat. The shawls are spelled with antiseptic charms, soaked in healing potions. It helps him cope with the pain, so _never_ try and force him to take them off. It's easier for him to be hidden."

"The pain?" Hermione asked, though her heart wasn't sure it really wanted to hear the answer.

"This is a curse of the Darkest Magic, Hermione ... it hasn't healed even a tiny bit since Tom Riddle first hit Harry with it," Enola explained. "And it hurts just as much as it did when it first ripped his face in half. He is in constant agony, though he does his best not to show it. But those of us who know ... _know_ , if you get what I'm saying."

"Tell me ... _please,_ " Hermione begged, her heart aching hard. "I have to know. How much damage did it do to cause such him such hurt?"

Enola sighed sadly and looked at Hermione, her moist eyes full of pure pity. "The curse took Harry's right eye, smashed his nose, and split his mouth in two. In truth, it took much of that whole side of his face. It's a raw, angry, open wound that no magic we know of can ever heal. That, Hermione, is the Harry Potter we know today."

"And we all love him just the way he is," Angharad piped up fiercely, to which all the other witches nodded in agreement. "We can only hope that you will, too."

But Hermione couldn't reply, only throw up a hand to catch her gasp, as boiling tears spilled from her own eyes without warning. She sobbed hard, and felt the jarring astonishment that the tears weren't for herself for once. _Poor Harry_ \- so hurt and wounded! Hermione couldn't even begin to picture it, to imagine the damage Enola had described. She didn't want it to be real, for Harry to be suffering so. But his physical wounds were nothing, if it could be believed, to his emotional ones. He was hurting not just from the scar, but from the very fear of being _seen_ , keeping himself covered and hidden behind scarves and shawls, terrified of being rejected by the people who loved him most.

And it was not lost on Hermione that Harry's greatest fear, it seemed, was being rejected by _her_. That whispered delicate things to Hermione's fractured heart, teased it towards a chance to be soothed. That was _not_ something to be overlooked wantonly. She suddenly realised, with a shock of understanding, why Harry was so keen to keep his distance ... he didn't want to _frighten_ her. Even by his absence he was trying to take care of her. It softened Hermione's light frustration towards him, made her sensible of Neville's sage warnings from the night she arrived. But she had never been so anxious to find _him_ , to make him know that seeing him was the very start of her own healing process ... and to indulge that fanciful idea that, as long as Harry was with her, he would be alright.

They would hurt together, cry together and maybe, despite the depths of their wounds, maybe they could find a way to _heal_ together, too.

Then, right at that moment, Baby Alison began to cry as well, as though she didn't want to be left out when all these tears were being shed.

"She needs a feed and a change," said Enola, recognising the tone of that particular bawl. "Slide her over, Alice. I'll take her to the nursery. I'm sure nobody wants dirty nappies at the breakfast table."

"Eww, no," said Myfanwy. "Pass the coffee before you go."

Enola raised her eyebrows. "Lesbianism is _not_ an excuse for laziness." She passed the coffee pot anyway as Myfanwy made a face back at her. Enola turned to Hermione. "Fancy helping me change my baby? You'll have to take a turn looking after her at some point if you're staying. No better way of introducing you to each other than to have you wipe her bum!"

"Ennie! You are disgusting," said Cassie. "Please do it, Hermione. It saves me a turn. And I've just done my nails this morning."

Hermione dried her eyes and grinned weakly. Three days ago the idea of changing a baby might as well have been the stuff of science fiction. Now, Hermione was relishing the prospect of such a task.

"I'd be happy to," said Hermione. Cassie beamed at her and mouthed a silent ' _thank you_ '. Hermione smiled back before following Enola, who was gently rocking her baby as she left the room.

* * *

The nursery was on an upper floor of the house, which was looking more like the 'palace' everyone kept calling it with each of the many new rooms that Hermione clocked as she passed them. She seriously doubted she'd find her way around without a map. The nursery itself was a cute little room. The paint on the walls had been charmed to reflect baby Alison's mood. Now it was a vibrant, daisy-yellow, as she laughed and giggled as Enola blew raspberries against her little belly. Hermione watched them fondly. She was loathe to even _think_ the word _broody_ , but the thought hitched in her brain.

"No kids yourself?" asked Enola when she caught Hermione staring.

"No, thank fuck," Hermione blurted out. She blushed sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to swear. Or to decry your motherhood."

Enola laughed. "It's fine, really. Alison's first word will be a swear of some sort. Neville has a filthy mouth. His mother is always on at him about it. And I love being a Mum, now I'm used to it. I was terrified at first, but Neville is a great husband and daddy. And Harry is like a second father to my little girl, really. I'm so, so lucky. I literally cant imagine what it was like for you ... out in the _real_ world."

Hermione scuffed her foot sadly. "I don't have a strong enough vocabulary to do it justice. I think not getting pregnant is my only blessing. I don't know whether my body or my magic just refused to let it happen or what. It was wrong to conceive something so pure from an act so false and forced."

Enola fastened a nappy to Alison, who was doing her utmost to squirm free. "Wasn't it _ever_ nice?"

Hermione sat on a chair in the corner and considered her reply a moment. "It wasn't always awful, but I wouldn't ever call it _nice_. I never enjoyed it. As soon as Voldemort took over he gave all the families a simple choice - align with him or die. The Purebloods went right to the top. Positions of power and authority, no matter how mediocre they were. Half-bloods and Muggleborns were put on lists and assigned to work based on usefulness. We were promised it would make us free, and earn higher status. Especially if we married into Pureblood lines. We were given menial tasks, forced labour, the grunt work for the New Order. A monthly ' _Ma_ _rital Bedding'_ was written into every marriage contract to keep it valid, as well as required 'breeding'. People were safe as long as they were useful ... and when that usefulness passed, people just disappeared.

"I never thought Ron would go along with it. Never. Arthur, his father, managed to escape abroad with his family and I was sure we'd go with them. But Ron, his elder brothers Charles and Percy, and his sister, refused to go. Even after their mother had been smuggled out. They'd all been made lofty promises by Voldemort and took them. Ginny even became one of Voldemort's chief concubines - A Mother of the New Order, as they call them. She has at least two children by him now.

"Arthur and Bill never came back for me ... even though they promised they would. After a year-and-a-half of waiting in hope, I gave up any idea I had of being rescued ... and resigned myself to my fate."

Hermione shuddered at the thought and hugged into herself, as though trying to forget. But these were wounds that ran very deep.

"I don't really blame Arthur," she went on. "He was so broken at leaving his children here, especially when his son, George, took his own life in a suicide attack on Diagon Alley shortly after Lord Voldemort's Ascension. I suppose he just wanted to leave this all behind."

"Where are they now?" asked Enola.

"I have no idea," said Hermione. "Ron tried to use his connections in Europe to track them, but they fled to Egypt after they escaped Britain. Ron couldn't get any further after the European Council of Magic closed the borders on Great Britain, not that he seemed too bothered about trying. We did learn that his mother died shortly after reaching Cairo. I imagine it was of a broken heart. Her family were _everything_ to her."

Enola closed her eyes sadly. Hermione's echoing sentiment was not lost on the young wife and mother, but after years of bottling up her hatred, Hermione's words were tumbling over themselves to get out of her now.

"Ginny got Ron his job with the Registration Commission, and his promotion to the Squib camp, too," she explained. "He's a fucking useless, idle wizard, always has been. But it turns out he has a knack for bullying, torturing and intimidating the weak and helpless. The Squibs have no chance with him. And the more vicious he is, the more he ingratiates himself with the higher-ups. He's quickly become a poster child for this mania."

"Yes, we know that much," said Enola, darkly. "When Harry first found out about Ron's job he was stunned. I've never seen him so shocked, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt. That was until he snuck into the Squib Camp for himself ... saw first hand what Ron and Draco Malfoy were doing to those poor souls. But he still held out hope that Ron's turn to darkness hadn't gone as far as you.

"When he found out that it _had_ ... well, I can barely describe it with words powerful enough.

"He didn't speak for fully three days together. Not a _single_ word. He was unbelievably angry. And the _guilt_... for what he convinced himself was _his fault_ over your suffering ... well, it was a phenomenon. Neville had to take him to an ancient Druid ritual space, gather everyone he could to build defensive wards, then just let Harry explode within it. I was there. It's the only time I've ever felt genuinely afraid of Harry. He was like an uncontrollable force and our Charms barely held. He exhausted himself just before he smashed through. We all had to rest for days afterwards just to recover."

Hermione sat back, shocked. "What would have happened if he'd broken through your spells?"

Enola sighed with a huff. "I imagine he would have given Wales a new fault line in the Earth!"

"Wow!" Hermione breathed. "Is he really that powerful?"

"That and more," said Enola, conversationally. "He and Neville have delved deep into the old arts of ritual magic since Harry was introduced to them, and their powers have multiplied by a matter of degrees as a result. His mentors on this subject have described his abilities in this area as bordering on the innate. He has an understanding for natural powers and abstract magic that can, at times, seem absurd. I haven't seen the plans he has for Ron and Riddle, but Neville practically floats when he and Harry have a strategy session about them. And the way he makes love to me after .... well, let's just say it takes my breath away. Sorry, there I go talking about sex again. I must seem like a filthy nympho or something!"

Hermione laughed heartily at that. There was something about this vision of Harry that sparked in her. The idea of him dabbling with such forms of magic was almost intoxicating. Hermione was rueful, pounded by regrets that she couldn't be involved. It sounded fascinating and that bubble of hope that she'd tried so hard to resist was now firmly ensconced within her.

"But how did he get into all that?" Hermione asked.

"Ah, Hermione, that isn't my story to tell," said Enola, cuddling and burping baby Alison on her shoulder. "Neville has asked me not to reveal too much about Harry's missing years. Well, missing to _you_. I've been around for almost all of them. Harry has secrets and stories that he may or may not reveal to anyone. I can't break that trust. I wont. I hope you can understand."

Hermione frowned. "Of course I understand. I don't _like_ it, but I wont ask you to break a promise for someone you barely know."

Enola smiled shrewdly. "Harry would be _upset_ if I told you, but he'd forgive me. Only because it's _you_ , of course. If I told any of the other girls even half of what I know ... Harry would probably never speak to me again. But I'd be on relatively safe ground telling you."

Hermione felt another of those rushes of heat flow into her chest and her face coloured again. She was truly angry at Harry at that moment. He was making her feel so special and vaunted, but he wasn't around to ask what the hell he was playing at, or why he was making her feel so giddy and girlish without even being there. Enola grinned knowingly at her, but said nothing and simply rocked her baby as Hermione watched.

"Would you like to meet her?" asked Enola. She held out the bundle of blankets and beckoned Hermione forwards. She took the baby uncertainly. "Just cradle her head. There we go. Perfect. She likes you already."

"How can you tell?" asked Hermione, gently moving the baby and trying not to gush over how beautiful she was.

"She doesn't smile like that for everyone," Enola whispered encouragingly.

"It could just be wind," Hermione speculated fairly, causing Enola to hoot out a laugh. "She's so _tiny_. So delicate. I'm afraid I'll break her."

"You're doing just fine," said Enola. "Besides, she's spelled to bounce if she hits the floor. She's always trying to climb out of her cot. She's Mummy's little adventurer, aren't you?"

Enola cooed over her baby. Hermione couldn't resist any longer and joined in. It was surreal for a moment, to be stood there making these babyish sounds. She was used to huffing and groaning and sighing in defeat. This was like waking up after the longest night.

"Why don't you take her to look outside?" Enola suggested. "She loves that. Nev installed cushions in the bay windows for us to sit on."

Hermione allowed Enola to guide her to the window, where they sat on red and white striped seating. Alison scrambled up and vainly tried to stand, but her stumpy little legs kept collapsing beneath her as she tried to balance against the glass. Hermione giggled every time the baby fell back into her lap.

"It's beautiful out there," Hermione commented, as she looked out over acres of gorgeous valley and plush gardens. "Can you even tell me where this place is? Or what it is?"

"I don't see how that would hurt," said Enola. "The locals call it Brecon Castle, but it's not a castle, really. I mean, there are the battlements over on the West Wing, and the round towers at the South Causeway will still fire spells at any intruders, but it's more of a palace. It's been rebuilt about a dozen times since Harry's ancestors founded it over a thousand years ago."

"Harry's _ancestors_ built this place?" asked Hermione in an astonished voice.

"Yes, it was the seat of power when his ancient relatives ruled the kingdom in this area of Wales," said Enola. "But that's all I can tell you. We call it the Blue Palace these days, but it's only because of the lake and the waterfalls in the Valley. Blue for water, see."

"So ... Harry _owns_ this place?" Hermione breathed. "This is his _home_?"

"And home for anyone lucky enough to escape Voldemort and fall under Harry's protection," said Enola stoutly. "There are dozens of us living on this land ... and now _you_ will, too. All protected by Ancient Welsh Celtic magic. Voldemort will never be able to penetrate the wards, or even find us. He doesn't value the old language of the Druids. He disregards it. Welsh magic is quite as old, and quite as powerful, as that of our Celtic cousins, the Irish and the Scots. Maybe more so, when you consider ..."

"Consider what?"

"I'll leave that particular secret for Harry to give you," Enola smiled covertly. "It's his favourite one. Well, apart from the one about him being _in love with you_ , of course. But everyone knows that one. It's obvious."

Hermione nearly dropped the baby in her shock.

"Harry ... _what ...?_ "

"Oh come on, love, why do you think Harry has moved heaven and earth to be good enough for you?" said Enola, swatting off Hermione's gasp of disbelieving protest. "He's practically redefined how to use magic just so you can be kept safe. He says it's for all of us, but nothing but _you_ being in mortal danger would have made him break his cover the other night. I've never seen him so frantic as he was when he heard about Malfoy coming for you. If that's not love I don't know what is. And I'm actually _in love,_ myself, so I should know, right?"

Hermione just stared open mouthed at Enola, who laughed and took her daughter back, in case Hermione dropped her on her head.

* * *

Harry and Neville stared at the plinth. It was unremarkable, yet the most remarkable thing ever. It was quite the dichotomy. The other five members, who made up Harry's Circle, were also peering in consideration at the weather-beaten monolith.

Neville turned to Harry, his hood flapping in the light breeze. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Harry nodded. "I've put off claiming my birthright for too long. Now I've revealed myself to Riddle, I have to take this step, take the power I need from this place. I left Malfoy with just enough to tell his Master all about it."

"What _did_ you do to them? Or do I not want to know?"

"Of those that survived?" Harry quirked, dryly. He set his jaw. "I blinded five. But I just took off Malfoy's nose ... so he could lead the others back to the King of the Noseless Cunts. I wanted Riddle to know exactly what his men can expect if they threaten Hermione again."

"Only a fool would mess with your witch, My Lord," said one of the others down below.

"She is not _my_ witch," said Harry fiercely, rounding on his men in the dark. "And the next one who refers to her as a piece of property will be cut down by my wand where he stands. She was once my closest friend, and I can only hope she will one day forgive me for my trespasses against her. I have failed her in the most fundamental of ways. I don't intend to forget that. Tonight I start to make amends."

Harry stepped forwards. He drew his wand and flicked a spell at the plinth.

_**"Revelio"** _

The stone transformed immediately. Instead of a dull, granite rock there was now a lush, marble white headstone leading down a vast set of white steps to a door not visible from the surface. The headstone was inscribed with ancient text of Celtic Runes. Harry grinned widely. It was the second such grin he'd allowed himself in the space of a few days ... he dared not think about the other one, as he sat at Hermione's beside, watching her sleep. It was a guilty indulgence. She'd berate him if she ever found out. But he couldn't resist just one look, even if it had lasted for several hours.

Harry translated the Runes quickly. It was the language of his ancestors, his family's own version, like a secret dialect. He smiled as he reached the end. This _was_ the place. Excitement coursed through him the likes of which he'd almost forgotten.

"Well, are you going to translate it for us, or are we just going to freeze our bollocks off all night!" Neville cajoled. Several of the others laughed.

"Knights of St David, my friends," Harry announced sagely as he turned to them all. "This is the place I've been promising you. A tomb belonging to my most ancient of ancestors. I can now reveal to you the secret Neville and I have been covetously protecting for the past three years, since we invited you into this covenant. I cannot express my gratitude for your patience, and your trust in us. I hope you will understand, and forgive us, when you know the truth."

Harry cleared his throat and read the inscription.

_**"Here lies The Terrible Head Dragon, King of Gwynedd.** _

_**May he give his enemies no rest in Death, as he gave them none in life.** _

_**All Hail the King!"** _

The Knights didn't respond at once. Harry hadn't expected them to. It was Sir David Pincott who spoke first, voicing their collective question.

"Who, or what, is a _Terrible Head Dragon?"_

Harry grinned mischievously. "Neville - a translation, if you will."

Neville stepped forward and drew his wand. He began swiping out a series of glowing runes in the air.

"Terrible!" he cried, before speaking the runic translation, an act which made his voice deep and ethereal. _**"Uther!"**_

The rune hung in the air, glowing a vivid purple.

 **"** Head!" said Neville. " _ **Pen!"**_ The second rune joined the first. "Dragon! _**Dragon!"**_

All three runes joined together. David Pincott looked up, and read the words in a barely audible whisper, as understanding dawned on them all.

" _Uther Pendragon_... The Terrible Head Dragon ... but that would mean ..."

Harry smiled widely at them all, bathing in the awestruck look crossing every eye.

And then his Knights dropped to their knees in reverent salute.


	5. The Scars of Heroes

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse, death of minor characters, graphic imagery, frank sex discussion, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with HP timeline and mythical history.

* * *

Harry holstered his wand and moved forwards to examine his handiwork. Roger Davies and Steven Maxwell were splayed against the wall of the reception area, quite unconscious. There was a lump sprouting on Maxwell's forehead, where it had connected with the ridges of the ornamental oak panelling of the wall.

Neville joined Harry and tutted. "Did you really need to be so forceful?"

Harry scoffed in return. "They have a very important job. They need to be prepared."

"But it's hardly fair," said Neville. "You are so fast it borders on the absurd. What chance did they have?"

"At least they got the wards up this time," said Harry. He motioned to a door on their left, which was covered by a shimmering white, swirling mist. "Davies finally seems to be cottoning on to the procedure."

"It's conditioning," said Neville dryly. "He keeps getting slammed into brick walls whenever you show up. It's enough to make it stick. It's really just self-preservation at this point."

Harry gave a hollow laugh. "We'd better wake them."

Neville drew his wand and cast the _Rennervate_ spells. Davies and Maxwell stirred below them with a series of groans. "Watch your head, Steve. Might need a balm for that."

Steven Maxwell gingerly touched his head. He looked up at Harry. Despite the injury, there wasn't even the barest trace of resentment in his eyes. "How did we do, Sir?"

"Better," said Harry, offering a hand and pulling Maxwell to his feet. "The wards are up. She's safe. The response time is improving, too. Good work."

"Thank you, Sir," said Maxwell. His eyes were unfocused and groggy.

Harry turned to Neville. "Nev, some healing for Mr Maxwell. Davies - lower the wards."

"Yes, Sir," Davies obeyed. The protective shield over the door vanished with a flick of his wand. Harry nodded his thanks and stepped forwards, taking the brass doorknob in his hand. He looked over at Davies. "Is she alone?"

Davies nodded. "Finalising some minor affairs of State. Planning for a tour of Canada next month. Nothing that cant wait."

Harry nodded again and entered the room.

The elderly lady looked up from her desk, her face cracking into a wide smile as she clocked eyes on Harry. She was in her nineties now, but you'd hardly know it. Harry had met her many times, but was always bowled over by her energy and vivacity. He hoped he was half as good if he ever reached such a ripe old age.

"Harry Potter! Well, of all the ways to brighten my day!"

Then there was that regal quality to her voice that Harry always felt humbled by. Her very presence was something else. He had to learn this magic from her, while he still had time.

"Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head. "Apologies for the abrupt intrusion."

Queen Elizabeth simply laughed at him. "I would expect nothing else from you, Harry. I'm afraid Wills and Kate have just left. They'll be very sorry to have missed you. You find me quite alone this morning."

"You're never alone, your Highness," said Harry, taking her proffered hand and placing a chaste kiss against her fingers. "Shame about Will and Kate, though. I haven't seen Princess Charlotte for months. I hear she's quite the terror."

The Queen laughed. "She managed to vanish the glass guarding the Crown Jewels just last week. The Beefeaters nearly combusted from the shock. I had Mr Davies Memory Charm half the corps. I hope you didn't Stun him too badly on this visit."

"He bore it well," said Harry gravely. He sat opposite the English monarch when she motioned him to do so. "They know the score. I turn up randomly and they try to protect you. It keeps them vigilant, on their toes. They're actually getting better."

"Yes, I felt the wards go up," Elizabeth agreed. "And that's not all I felt. I take it you found the tomb?"

Harry nodded, then leaned forward seriously. "Your Majesty, I want you to know that I have zero intention of taking your Regency from you. Britain is your country, I have no interest in changing the arrangement. Only of returning the country to your protection before it's too late. That's why I am here."

Queen Elizabeth suddenly stood. She flicked a wrist and a shining sceptre materialised in her hand. She placed the orb at its tip to her head and cast silent magic. Harry felt an oath settle on him and rose to stop her. But she held out a hand to prevent him. Her wandless magic was so powerful it actually forced Harry back into his seat.

"I, Elizabeth, Queen of England and the British Nation, and all her holdings overseas, hearby swear fealty to Harry Potter, Heir of Avalon, House of The Once and Future King. This is my Oath, my bond ... and may my magic see it done."

Harry gasped as the enormity of the oath settled on him. It was physical as well as symbolic. He just stared at the Queen.

"Elizabeth ..."

She returned his stare resolutely. "The Houses of Winsdor and of Saxe-Coburg will stand with the House of Potter, the true heirs to the House of Avalon. I once told the same to your father, and now I tell it to _you._ We will govern in your stead, as Chief Protectors of your line and legacy, for as long as you wish us to do so. This was always the plan, Harry. It was always going to be the way. If neither you, nor your descendants, wish to take the Throne ... well, we shall keep it warm for you, just in case. But it does not stop you being _who you are._ "

Harry tried not to grin. "Fine. But I will not permit you to bow to me, Your Highness."

"One is still a Queen," said Elizabeth stoutly, but grinning behind her wrinkles. "And in charge until you say otherwise. And a Queen does not bow."

"Good to know," said Harry wryly.

"But you will be wanting this."

Queen Elizabeth opened a large cabinet full of sparkling jewellery, pondered a while before picking out an elegant silver ring with a single red ruby encrusted in the top. A gold letter _P_ was set into the stone with actual gold thread.

"What's this?"

"The family ring of the House of Potter," said Queen Elizabeth. "Your Godfather passed it to me after your father's death for safe-keeping. It will imbibe you with all the ancient magic of your family, and legitimise all your political power and claims in both the magic and Muggle worlds."

Harry slipped the ring on. He felt new, yet old, magic wash over him. It was potent and made him slightly giddy. It would take weeks to adjust to this. He and Neville would need to revisit their ritual ideas ... they weren't nearly encompassing enough for him to absorb this powerful, heady sensation.

"It can be a little overwhelming, can it not?" asked Elizabeth, gently. "I remember on my Coronation ... how I managed not to pass out in Westminster Abbey is one of the great mysteries of my life. You should try putting on a crown, Harry. The weight of expectation is utterly ridiculous."

"You're doing a very good job at putting me off," said Harry, rubbing his temples. He had pulled his hood back as a mark of respect, but the red silk shawl he wore to cover his face was still firmly in place.

Elizabeth laughed. "Now then. If you are not here to steal one's crown, what can I do for you?"

Harry stiffened in his seat, steeling his resolve. "I've come to ask your permission ... to start a civil war."

The Queen interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them. She fixed Harry with a firm stare. "I believe we already _are_ at war. Are you seeking my permission to join it?"

"No ... to end it ... by whatever means necessary," Harry replied, sternly. He rose and paced around the table to look out of the Palace window. The skyline of London loomed imperious beyond an avenue of tall trees. Harry wistfully wondered if it would survive what was coming. "Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord Voldemort, has thoroughly penetrated nearly every part of magical and Muggle Britain. He has the magical world in the throes of a death grip so complete I'm not sure it will ever fully recover from it. The damage already done is so fundamentally great ... and his influence is permeating the Muggle world more and more. The leaders of two of the three main political parties are now under his control. Should either win the next General Election ... then I seriously fear for the future of this country and her people.

"And Riddle wont stop with Britain. Even as we speak, he has mobilised a special branch of his Death Eaters to smash the restriction wards surrounding our country. Understand, Elizabeth, the European Council of Magic didn't erect them to punish Britain - but to try and keep Europe safe from her. But they wont hold."

"What are you asking of me, Harry?"

"I have to wage a war," said Harry. "You're right ... it has already begun. But it will get worse before it gets better. A lot worse. I need your help to hold everything together, to stop it falling apart. Whatever I must do in the Magical world, I need you to keep the Muggle world from getting involved. It will require all of your magic, your power ... every ounce of your influence. There needs to be a Britain _left_ when all this is done, one worth fighting for."

"The House of Windsor stands with the Great House of Avalon," the Queen repeated. "We will stand strong and be counted. You have my full support, Harry. And my faith."

Harry turned to her. "Thank you, Your Highness."

He moved to leave, but Elizabeth rose and placed a hand on his arm. "May I ... may I see the _sword?"_

Her eyes were glinting with the excitement of adventure. Harry was convinced she couldn't really be in her nineties. It was a fallacy. Harry grinned beneath his shawl, threw back his robe and unbuckled the belt which was tied there. The large broadsword shone with a magic all its own as Harry pulled it from its leather sheath. The Queen's eyes went wide as she took the jewel-encrusted handle. She turned the blade in her hand, bathing in the magic flowing from it.

"I have long desired to hold the sword of our greatest King," Elizabeth whispered reverently. "Tell me ... how did it feel ... to pull it out?"

"I couldn't rightly describe it," said Harry, grinning. "Not to a Lady ... and certainly not to my Queen!"

They both laughed. Harry re-sheathed the Sword of his most famous ancestor, then tied it firmly around his waist. With another bow and an exaggerated curtsey, he left the Queen to ponder a worrying future.

* * *

Hermione moved gingerly across her bedroom, her nightgown fluttering in the breeze from an open window. She placed her hands on the sill and looked out across the motionless night. It was clear. Stars shimmered and danced high above, dotted about the dark sky like a twinkling blanket. The moon was bright tonight. It threw the gardens into stark relief, dappling the high branches and cultivated lawns with a fierce, silvery light.

It was really quite stunning.

Hermione marvelled at it, despite the discomfort she was in. She knew she had to put up with it. Magical injuries took a long time to heal. And she had a veritable back catalogue for her body to deal with. It had been five years since she'd suffered the Cruciatus Curse at Malfoy Manor, but those wounds had never truly been repaired, the nightmares made sure of _that_. The deep, marrow-level ache was striking her now. Her hips were the worst part, creaking and groaning like she was an ancient old lady. She didn't feel too far off from that.

But then there were all the years of Ron's abuse, too. She should have guessed that he'd spelled her when she wasn't looking. Restrictive charms of all kinds had been placed on her without her knowledge. Enola diagnosed them quickly and removed them with some clever runic spell work. Hermione was enthralled by that. She'd never seen magic like it. Hogwarts taught only basic theory of Ancient Runes. Hermione was just now beginning to understand they carried a power of their own unlike anything she might have expected.

Enola knew a ton about this subject. Her mother was one of Harry's mentors in runic casting and she was so enthused when she talked about him that Hermione felt proud on his behalf. She was determined to get into this herself, when she felt stronger. It seemed that Harry had thoroughly immersed himself in the art and Hermione wanted something to connect with him on. If this was important to him, she would make it important to her, too.

Besides, that ritual room was completely fascinating.

She'd explored it briefly a few days ago. Had a proper look, with light and everything. The place was crammed full of carvings and runes and symbols and the place vibrated with magical energy all of its own. It was slightly stupefying. Enola had explained that the house was placed on the convergence of several ley lines, and was set out in a precise, deliberate way to harness them and create a powerful vortex of wild magical energy, one that Harry, somehow, had learned to tap into and channel.

Hermione couldn't rightly envisage that. Or quite wrap her head around its permutations. It had allowed Harry to shield the palace and its grounds from any malicious intent, magical or otherwise, using the ancient runic dialect of his ancestors. It made the place utterly impervious to Voldemort. They could all be safe there practically forever.

But Harry wasn't the sort to simply hide behind a magical shield. He created it for others to do just that, while he went off and devised a way to rid the world of Voldemort for good. How this might be achieved was fiercely guarded information. Only Harry and Neville knew the plan. Even Enola hadn't been told. It was the only secret Harry insisted Neville keep from his alluring wife.

Hermione winced as a jolt of pain throbbed in her legs. Ron's abuses had been much deeper than just curses on her. His physical abuse had taken its toll, too. Even this had been tinged with magic. All in all, he'd left a nasty imprint on her.

Just then, there was a little pop and Sally was next at Hermione's side, snapping her fingers to hold her upright as her knees buckled.

"Lady Hermione!" she admonished. "Why yous be out of bed without Sally! Yous not be well enough!"

Hermione still hadn't quite got her head around being called _Lady_ , but all the house-elves she'd met at the Palace insisted on it. Unless they were calling her _Master Harry's favouritest witch_. That was their other personal name for her and was guaranteed to make her blush furiously, so the older elves tended to refrain from it, fearful they were making her ill. The younger ones were more playful and did it just to set them all to wild giggles.

For it had turned out that Alice Longbottom had been quite correct. Harry's apparent deep regard for Hermione was a well-known secret. Everyone knew, or was quite convinced of the fact, it seemed. After barely a week of knowing this curious bit of Harry Trivia, Hermione still didn't know what to say to it, and had no answers to give when asked. Which she frequently was, by all of the witches of the palace in turn, who were just dying to know all about Harry's hidden romantic side. Hermione and Harry had always been extraordinarily close, she could admit _that_ , but he'd stopped short of displaying anything more than friendship for her. But, according to Enola, this was merely an act.

And, apparently, the deepest regret of his life.

They'd talked extensively about this. Hermione was shocked and struggled to believe even half of it. If she dared believe the other half she was convinced her heart might explode from all its uncontrolled pounding. She'd always loved Harry, far more than a mere friend should and not in anything like the same way. She'd always known that. She'd filed it away as a rueful case of what might have been. It just hadn't happened for them, never looked like it would. For a multitude of ludicrous reasons, it was as if they'd entered into an unspoken covenant never to look the possibility in the face.

But Harry had reneged. He'd never said, but he'd thought about it a lot, according to Enola. In quiet times, in private, in a solitary world that he wouldn't even have recorded in a journal. They were his own words to Neville's wife, professed during the one time they'd openly discussed it, on Hermione's twenty-first birthday ... when Harry held his own party for her and got blind drunk enough for the both of them.

"He outright confessed to being in love with you," Enola had said. "It was the most beautiful conversation I've ever had with him. He actually made me cry, he was so gushing about you. You have to know that Harry doesn't open up like that very often ... if _ever_. It was incredible to be a part of it, to see a little bit of the _real_ Harry, the one Voldemort stole from us all those years ago. I actually consider myself blessed that he felt able to talk like that with me.

"It wasn't long after me and Neville got engaged. We'd asked Harry to perform the ceremony and he was feeling all emotional, maybe even a little _rueful_. He's a bit of a romantic at heart, I think ... a big old softie under all that granite he shows to the world. And his heart _literally_ belongs to you. He left me in _no doubt_ about that. And as soon as we had that conversation, I knew I wouldn't be happy in life until I'd met you. I simply _had_ to meet the only girl in the world who could bring a light to Harry's eye."

"But why didn't he ever say anything?" Hermione replied, blushing madly. "If he liked me as much as you say, surely he would have told me. What would he have been afraid of?"

"Well, why didn't you ever tell Harry that _you_ were in love with _him_?" Enola countered, evenly.

"I ... what ... how can you say ..." Hermione tried to say. She was beyond flustered, as though Enola had opened her diary and read the world her secrets.

"Oh come on, love," said Enola, waving her hand dismissively. "You _actually_ light up when you talk about him. It's unbearably sweet. Especially when you've gone through so much shit with that prick you have to call a husband. That you can still _remember_ what it's like to love is quite literally breathtaking."

Hermione didn't know quite what to say to that. But she couldn't deny a word of it. And, after the life she'd endured for the past few years, she was too exhausted to even bother.

The question was ... _did_ she still love Harry, the way she had when she was a teenager?

Or was she still able to love, after all she'd been through? Hermione still hadn't forgotten the thrill of what it felt like the _first_ time she'd realised she was in love with Harry, and the memory excited wondrous, girlish flutterings all through her body. She recognised those dormant emotions as if they were a stolen memory, welcomed them even, as they tentatively poked though all her layers of hurt. It was a strange sensation, to have warmth in her heart trying to chase away the resident cold.

But it wasn't going to be a battle won so easily.

For a large part of Hermione thought it was ridiculous to consider that she was falling _back_ _in love_ with Harry, especially after such a short period of knowing that he was still alive. After all, she hadn't seen or spoken to him yet, and she didn't like to think of herself as falling in love with an _i_ _dea_ of Harry, rather than the man himself. But then, she wondered, was it easier to believe that had she just never _stopped_ loving him? Had she simply, due to lack of encouragement, put her emotions into a sort of _stand-by mode_ , just in case the impossible happened, and that Harry's mere emergence now had been enough to switch them back on again? The answers, like her injuries, were resolving themselves at their own, frustratingly slow pace.

Which was not anything like as quickly as Hermione, or her cross little elf, would have liked.

"Whys you up, Miss Hermione?" asked Sally.

"I felt something _move_ ," Hermione explained. "Like the air of the house shifted. Does that make sense?"

"Oh _that_ ," said Sally simply, waving her hand. "That be the shield ward moving. Always be happening when someone comes in or out. Be one day when you learn to recognise who it be. Feel different for everyone. Elves always know."

"Then who's coming in?"

"Oh, that be Master Harry," said Sally without fuss. "Master Neville be coming in half a minute ago. I said they always be coming back. "

Hermione felt her breath catch in her chest. "Harry's home? Can I go and see him? Will you take me to him, please?"

"Yes, and no, and no," said Sally sternly. "Master Harry see you when he good and ready, Lady Hermione. How many ways can Sally tell yous?"

Hermione crossed her arms and frowned. "And if I try and leave when you're not looking?"

Sally looked at her, shrewd and swarthy. "Sally be _always_ watching, my Lady. And Rhian be watching Sally. And Master Harry be watching us all. If Master Harry want Lady Hermione to rest, then Lady Hermione be resting."

"And it's useless for me to argue, I suppose?" Hermione huffed.

"Lady Hermione be getting the picture."

Hermione turned back to the window. There was a flash of fire and Lily, Harry's beautiful Phoenix, exploded into flight just outside. She soared around a while before flying right up and perching on the open window ledge. Hermione stretched out a cautious hand. Lily turned in and rubbed her crown against Hermione's fingers with a contented trill.

"See, Lady Hermione," said Sally sagely, folding Hermione's discarded day clothes nearby. "Master Harry _always_ be watching his favouritest witch."

Hermione blushed as Lily sang out in obvious agreement. The Phoenix took one more long, piercing look at her, then took off again, clearly satisfied with her spying mission. Hermione tried to track her flight path, to see which one of the many rooms Harry might be in, just in case she devised a way to escape the attention of the elves. But just then, Lily disappeared in a flash of flame.

Hermione huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Well ... that's just _cheating_ , Harry," she said crossly.

Then Hermione was hit with a realisation.

"Sally - how long did you say Harry had been home?"

"Master Harry been here five minutes, no more, my Lady Hermione," said Sally, now colour organising Hermione's sock drawer for fun. "Whys you ask?"

"Well it just seems a little _quick_ , for him to send Lily to check on me after being home for just five minutes," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Don't you think?"

Sally scoffed. "Master Harry ask firebird Lily and Sally to check on Lady Hermione before he even enter the house. He very worried about his most favourite witch."

Hermione felt her heart skip at that. Her stomach joined in with little somersaults.

"Why do you all say that?" asked Hermione, limping to her bed and settling down. "What makes you think I'm his ... fa-favourite witch?"

It seemed preposterous to even say the words aloud.

"Master Harry be liking Lady Hermione very much," said Sally, tucking the covers over her before hopping onto the foot of the bed. "He be talking about her all the time. Elves hear everything, know more. Master Harry not talk about any witch like he talk about Lady Hermione. He light up like a glow-worm when he says yous name. Then there be his picture."

"Picture?"

"On Master Harry's nightstand," said Sally. "Only one picture of a witch in Master Harry's room. Only one witch in Master Harry's heart, too, Sally thinks."

"And it ... it's a picture of _me?"_ Hermione could barely form the notion.

Sally nodded. "Sally not be surprised. Lady Hermione be very pretty. But all ladies need beauty sleep. Time for yous now."

Hermione snuggled down in the covers, wild thoughts chasing each other through her mind. Her entire being was flooded with such emotion for Harry she could barely lay still. She'd never be able to sleep. Or she wouldn't have, if a certain little elf hadn't snapped her fingers and made it happen.

* * *

Harry paced patiently up and down the handsome corridor, humming lowly in his eager anticipation. He'd waited long enough for bad things in his life, so this was a pleasant change of pace for him. If necessary, he was happy to trot along the brightly-lit hallway until sunlight replaced the candlelight, he was just in that little of a rush tonight.

Even so, he was at war with himself inside ... even if it _was_ in a far different way to how he _usually_ combatted his inner demons. This had become a guilty pleasure for him, and he knew he should feel terrible about it ... but he just didn't have it in him. He'd gone through a lot to get here, surely the universe wouldn't begrudge him _this_ secret indulgence.

Perhaps _Hermione_ might, but until she caught him at it, Harry didn't think he'd find the self-control to stop.

Sally popped next to him and he was startled and yelped in surprise. Sally bowed apologetically. Harry patted her head to stop her shaking.

"It's alright, Sally, calm yourself. It's my fault, I was miles away. Is she sleeping?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Properly? Or is she pretending?"

"Fully sleeping," said Sally proudly. "I be's pulling her eyelids open and everything to check."

Harry chuckled at that. "You're a good elf. I wont be long tonight. I'm tired myself. I just want to say goodnight."

"Sally be waiting when yous be done, Master Harry."

Harry nodded, then gently slipped into Hermione's bedroom.

His eye took a while to adjust to the dark, but he soon found her sleeping form. He crossed the room silently and slid into a chair next to her bed. She was turned to him, her wild curls splayed out over the pillow. She looked calm, free of woes ... and unspeakably beautiful for it. Harry's heart thrummed as he watched her body rise and fall with her steady breathing. But it hid the truth in plain sight.

Harry drew his wand and began casting silent diagnostic spells all over Hermione's slumbering body. His heart ached with each revealing spell. It was a foul history of broken bones, of dislocations, of muscle-deep bruises that were still sore and tender. She was in daily discomfort. There was a dark throb at her hips where an old wound was coming to the surface. Harry would have been amazed if Hermione could even walk in a straight line. He turned to casting healing runes, tracing them just above the covers before pushing them into her waist. It wouldn't be a long-term fix, but it would ease her suffering for now.

Then he holstered his wand and looked down at her. He had a wild notion. It was dark, she wouldn't see ...

He slowly slipped off his shawl and tossed it onto the end table nearby, feeling the cool breeze brush against his sweaty skin. Or what was left of it. Then he returned his gaze to Hermione. Even though he only had one eye left, uncovering the empty socket made him _feel_ like he could see better. It was all in his mind, he was sensible of that, but he did it nonetheless. He wanted to look at Hermione with unfettered vision, as though somehow he could drink more of her in.

Just being sat with her relaxed him, and the minutes became a full hour without Harry really noticing the passage of time. Here he could watch over her, guard her, protect her from anything. He would destroy the very _concept_ of night itself, if it rose up and presented a threat to her. But Harry didn't want to start that train of thought, of those he would hurt to keep Hermione happy and safe and warm.

For this was a quiet time, to enjoy simply watching her breathe, to live in her presence and be thankful for every beat of her heart. He'd been so close to losing her. He couldn't bear to think about that, and his spike of guilt as he did made the windows rattle in their frames. He was getting too worked up already. He'd wanted more time than this, but he had to leave his vigil for tonight, before his magic erupted and killed the fresh flowers he'd picked for her from the garden. He didn't fancy explaining that to her, so he got up and tiptoed sadly, quietly from the room.

At least he'd be able to do this all again tomorrow night. And after what he'd almost allowed to happen to her, that was something to be thankful for. 

Harry closed the heavy doors as carefully as he could, merely out of habit. He knew Sally's magic would keep Hermione asleep through a thunderstorm. But that silly part of his brain still refused to take any chances. She was so hurt. She needed so much rest. He could have cried out at it, as though the agony was his own. He sent Sally, who was still waiting patiently, to bed, then pressed his head against the cool oak of the door and let his anguish spill over as soon as she was out of sight.

Harry didn't often permit his emotional shields to come down, but he was powerless to prevent it in the face of Hermione's suffering. He loved her so much. How could he have let this happen to her? He took a breath to calm himself. The last thing he needed was to wake the whole castle, or destroy it with his fury at his own failings. He stood up straight, determined to master his sorrow, then brushed hastily at his wet cheeks. It was amazing, really, that despite the damage to his one eye socket, both his tear ducts still worked perfectly.

Then Harry heard movement and reached for his wand on instinct. He just sighed as he saw the cause of it.

"Still persisting with this creepy, stalker thing then?"

Harry frowned as Enola emerged into the pool of light cast by the high-hanging candles on the wall. "Be quiet, Ennie. It's my house. I'll stalk who I like."

"Oh, I think you're on safe ground," said Enola, stepping up close. "Most of the witches in this palace would be perfectly agreeable to you sneaking into their rooms in the middle of the night. Half the wizards too, probably."

Harry blushed. That was to say, his scar tissue flared up in angry purple blotches. It was as close as he could come to a flush these days.

"You seriously need to get laid, En," said Harry.

"Well if you didn't keep stealing my husband for days on end maybe I'd get a chance," Enola replied crossly. "I don't suppose you're going to tell me where you've been this time."

Harry simply shook his head. Then he turned to consider Neville's wife again.

"You're up late," Harry said suspiciously.

"When you have a baby of your own you'll understand," said Enola dryly. "Neville's exhausted. He went out like a light. So I'm on Ally-Duty for the night."

Harry frowned again. "There are over thirty house-elves here. I'm sure you can trust one of them to look after her for a while."

"I want to raise my own child," said Enola, simply. "The elves are always welcome to help, but some things only a mum should do for her baby."

Harry turned to go. As he did, Enola caught full sight of his face in the light and hissed at him. "Where are you going? You realise you're _exposed_?"

Only then did Harry realise he'd left his shawl on Hermione's bedside table.

"Your scar is weeping," Enola went on, gently, stepping closer. "Quite badly, actually. Let me ..."

"Leave it," Harry replied lowly, pulling free of Neville's wife.

"Harry ..."

"I said leave it," he cut across forcefully.

Enola glared at him. "You don't frighten me, Harry. Your scar needs attention. I wont touch, I promise, but it needs to be cleaned up. When was it last done?"

"I don't know," Harry murmured. "A week, maybe? I don't remember."

"A week!" Enola hissed. "No wonder it looks so bad! Come on, no excuses. I'll make it quick, but we do it properly tomorrow."

Harry submitted with a small nod and a slightly bigger huff. Enola smiled sadly at him before leading them to one of the other suites nearby. She motioned for him to sit at a vanity table before taking out her whitewood wand. She began casting very slow and delicate cleaning charms and antiseptic spells and healing runes. Harry winced and flinched but tried not to show it. Even the light touch of Enola's familiar magic caused him unspeakable agony where it touched his wound.

"I don't know that this will ever heal," she said in a soft but bitter tone. "That utter bastard ... I hope you make him hurt this bad, Harry, when that time comes ..."

Enola's voice trailed off as Harry bit the inside of his cheek to distract him from the torturous pain of the cleaning. Harry let her work. She was always so careful with him. He could never tell her, but he welcomed her help. She was the only one he'd let do this ... he didn't trust anyone else to be so aware and precise.

Then she started talking again. "I really like Hermione, you know. She's so bright and lovely, despite everything. I can see why you are so taken with her. She's lovely. I approve."

Harry held in a laugh. Enola's wand work required utter stillness, so Harry simply stayed silent and considered his reflection in the mirror, and the smashed features that sneered back at him. His broken gaze traced the entire length of that ugly, jagged, angry canyon splitting his face in two from temple to chin, robbing him of his right eye, his nose, setting his mouth into a permanent snarl. A face not even a mother could love. Who was he kidding? Hermione would be just as horrified of him as the rest of the world.

And he really couldn't blame her.

Enola carefully cleaned up the rest of his scar. The pinkish pus which had been oozing from the ridges was all but gone. She wanted to reach out, to soothe him. Harry could tell that. He backed away reflexively.

"Thanks, that'll do," he said quietly.

"Where's your scarf?" asked Enola. "I could renew the antiseptic charms on it for you."

"I left it on Hermione's table," said Harry, guiltily. "Don't know what I was thinking ... taking it off ..."

His voice trailed away sadly.

"You just wanted to see her properly, " said Enola, gently. "I understand that. Do you want me to get it for you?"

"No, leave her rest. She needs it. I have more in my room. Thanks, Ennie. I'm going to turn in."

"You should see her, Harry," said Enola quickly, as Harry rose to go. "Let her see you. She's going crazy not being able to. The worry wont help her recovery, you know."

"Seeing me might make it worse," Harry replied sadly. "I just cant. Look at me. I'm a mess."

"A _hot_ mess, Harry," said Enola, lightly. "And if you think _she_ will care about that, you're doing her a disservice. I've only just started to get to know her and the one thing I can tell you is that she isn't superficial. And it's obvious how important you are to her. Give her more credit, give her a chance."

Harry sighed. Even as his angry reflection looked back, his heart dared to hope. "Does she really want to see me that much?"

Enola smiled at him. "More than that. The only reason she hasn't found you is that you don't stay still long enough to pin down. See her, Harry. For your own good _and_ hers."

Harry sighed again, then slowly nodded. "Well, she'll have to give me my shawl back. I'll be tending the gardens tomorrow. I haven't been to my secret copse in a while ..."

"I'll make sure she finds the way," Enola replied, smiling broadly. She really was ridiculously pretty. "Goodnight, Harry."


	6. The Secret Garden

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Hermione was shivering, despite the sunny weather beating down on her. She'd picked out another pretty sundress at Sally's prompting. She felt rather alien in it. She hadn't worn anything like this in years. It was a bit revealing, lower cut than she was used to. But this was liberating in itself. It was feminine, she felt womanly in the dress.

And she hadn't felt that in a while.

But still she was shaking. There was no breeze. The air was totally still. It would be quite stifling later when the sun was fully up. She would be thankful for the thin cotton of the dress then. She felt the soft hem dance and tickle playfully at her thighs. She had too much leg on show and the little white flats Sally had slipped onto her feet her were dainty, but allowed for far too much skin. Besides, the remnants of her most recent bruises were still there, poking out like angry ink splodges against her pale, milky flesh.

What would Harry think when he saw her made up like this?

Hussy? Whore? Sympathy wench? She hadn't seen him in years and his personality was altered. Everyone said so. She felt her stomach tighten as she walked slowly along the gravel path. She was too much on display. He might think she was throwing herself at him on this first, most auspicious of meetings. She wasn't entirely opposed to that idea, having built up this notion of him in her brain that was already threatening to make him into something of an addiction. But Neville's warning about Harry not liking to be touched rang loudly in her ears. She had to be mindful of that.

Sally led Hermione out of the tree-lined avenue of the North Causeway and into a well-manicured garden of techicolour. Flowers and bushes were artfully arranged along a path of precisely-trimmed lawn, and a little stream flowed here and there all through it, darting beneath tiny arches and bridges with a soft rushing sound. It was a really lovely little ramble. Hermione was very bitter that she wasn't able to manage it on her own feet, having to be content with being hovered around everywhere by her personal elf, at least until her legs were strong enough to support her weight again.

Hermione just hoped she'd have enough strength to hold back from launching herself at Harry as soon as she saw him in a few minutes time.

Then they came to a gentle stop. Off to one side of the garden was a pretty sort of wilderness. It was a contained space, with climbing vines and a canopy of dense leaves over one side. Hermione could hear more water splashing inside.

Sally let go of her hand and nodded her head for Hermione to enter. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "Yous go in on your own now, Lady Hermione. Master Harry be inside for you ... best not to keep him waiting ..."

Hermione took a huge breath, curled her fingers deeply into the red silk shawl in her hands, then cautiously limped forwards.

It was really quite pretty inside. It was wider than it looked. There was a little stone path lined with pebbles that led around the space, which was half in shadow from the leafy canopy overhead. Small flowerbeds were blooming in each corner and there was a cute circular fountain at the dead centre made from gleaming white marble. A rearing hippogriff rose from the middle of it and water was spouting from its open beak. There were four stone benches curling around the fountain ... and a lone figure sat on the farthest one, almost completely obscured by the shade.

Hermione's breath caught sharply in her lungs at this first sight of Harry, alive, breathing, _living_ not twelve feet from where Hermione was standing, frozen in place by the very impossible-ness of the vision. He was wearing a long, dark emerald robe with a deep hood that totally covered his head and face, but she knew unquestionably that it was Harry, as though his very presence had its own vibration. She fought hard to blink back tears. She didn't want to cry like a weak little girl ... but just the sight of him sitting there was enough to shatter her very world.

It took every ounce of restraint she had not to run and embrace him on the spot.

She was mindful of not spooking him by being so overt. Equally, she knew she had to master herself now to not show pity when she finally saw his face, and especially his scar. Enola had been very firm on how much he hated that. And Hermione knew she had to obey, if only because she owed Neville's wife a debt. She'd been the one to finally convince Harry to see her. She felt a spike of jealously over that, over Enola's ability to influence Harry. That had, for the longest time, been _her_ domain. She was determined to wrestle that power back from her new friend.

Hermione approached slowly. She noticed silly things, like the slump of Harry's shoulders, the curve of his back, the stillness of the trees overhead. Time seemed to be holding its breath for them, not daring to intrude. As though even the universe itself wasn't sure how this was going to go.

It hardly gave Hermione courage.

She clutched again at the shawl in her hand, as through trying to draw courage from it. She brought it to her face and breathed deeply. It smelled of Harry, so familiar yet markedly different. It was comforting. She marvelled at it. All morning, she hadn't been able to shake the image of Harry sat at her bedside, sat so close by. Worrying for her, caring for her, trying to make her better. All the while suffering so himself. Suffering with irrational fear that she hated him, that she would reject him. She longed to tell him that nothing could be further from the truth.

But where to start? What could she say? Five years and so much had gone on. How did she go about breaking the ice?

She took a breath and sat on a bench opposite him, giving him space. Then she offered the shawl. He inclined his head at the movement.

"You left this," she said gently. It wasn't much, but it had begun. She couldn't have said how, but she was sure he was smiling under his hood.

"Thanks," he said quietly, taking it from her. "This is my favourite one. I've missed it."

His meaning was undoubtedly clear. It brought the tears Hermione had been trying so hard to keep in. The very sound of his voice had broken the dam. It was him. It was her Harry. She had to force herself to stay on the bench and not simply jump up and throw her arms around him.

"Oh, _Harry ..."_

He breathed raggedly opposite her and his shoulders began shaking. He was crying, too, Hermione could tell that and it made her own tears flow that much more freely. Just being this close to her was too much for him, apparently. She couldn't quite get her head around that. It was sweet and lovely but oh so strange. And so _frustrating_. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, which was precisely the only thing she _couldn't_ do. She had to wait, she knew that. But nothing had ever been so hard.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry croaked slowly as he mastered himself first. He sounded beyond broken. "So, so sorry ..."

Hermione steadied herself, held still her own heaving sobs. If Harry could do this, so could she. Her voice stuttered as she eventually spoke. "I ... I don't blame you, Harry. For any of it. I r-really don't. I need you to believe that. If these are the only words we speak to each other today, I need you to hear me say that and take it away with you."

Harry's body was wracked again. Hermione had to grip the bench to stop herself moving. It turned her knuckles white with the effort. She saw Harry's hands come up and disappear under his hood, cupping his face. He was brushing away his tears. Hermione could take no more.

"Let me see you."

Harry didn't move. "I ... I can't. Please don't make me."

"Harry ... please. I need to see your face."

He laughed hollowly. "You _really_ don't. Trust me on that."

"You're wrong," she said softly. "It's the _only_ thing I need. I don't resent you for anything that has happened, for the things you think you have or haven't done. I really, truly don't. But I will get very cross if you don't show me your face. You don't like me being cross, Harry."

He chuckled at that. It was practically musical to Hermione's ears. "No, you're right, I really don't. I remember that much about you."

"Then let me see you," Hermione pleaded. "Please, Harry, I have to see your face. I ... I know about your scar."

"Let me guess? Enola?" Harry asked lightly. "She never was any good at keeping secrets."

"Please don't blame Enola," Hermione begged. "Neville's mum mentioned it first and I couldn't rest until I knew everything. Please, Harry, I'll do my best not to be shocked. But I've been waiting for _five years_ to see your face again, and I wont believe it's you till I do. I just want to see you ... and what that bastard Voldemort did to you. After being away so long, you owe me a _lot_ of missed birthday and Christmas presents I think. Show me your face and I'll consider us even."

Harry sighed and huffed. In a moment that felt like a watershed, he surrendered.

"Okay. But don't blame me for what you see. You have been warned."

With a resigned, stiff movement, Harry sat upright. Slowly, reluctantly, he hooked his fingers into his hood, drew it back and Hermione got her first look at Harry in five years. Two-thirds of his face was covered in a blue scarf that went down around his skull and crossed above what was left of his nose. She caught sight of his one remaining eye. It had lost its vibrancy. It was cold, callous even. That's what struck her first. It was a dull green, a pale viridian. Not the sparkling emerald she was so used to.

And it hurt to see it. Far more than she had prepared herself for. Despite all her determination, this had stunned her right away. She had tried to condition herself for a horrendous scar, but to see the loss of life in Harry's eye struck her like a bullet. Harry noticed. He bowed his head with resigned acceptance and held his hands still at the clasp of his shawl. He had expected this, but to see it happen cut to him more completely than anything he could have prepared for. He dropped his hands from his wrappings and visibly shrunk back against the bench and away from her judgemental eyes.

Hermione chastised herself firmly. She took a few more breaths to steady her mind. "Harry ... I'm sorry. Please, continue ... I promise I'll be stronger for you."

Harry sighed sadly in response, but it was almost a begging whimper. He didn't want to do this, that was obvious. He would rather have heard the murderous cackle of Voldemort in his ear than to face Hermione's disgusted gasps as she saw his ruined flesh. Her opinion meant that much to him that it broke his very _voice_ to think he was letting her down in _any_ way ... even _this._ Hermione felt her heart shatter at the sound and she swore at herself for causing it. She had thought _she_ was wounded, but she knew instantly that Harry's suffering was the equal of her own, worse even. It made her almost frantic to do what she could to soothe him. To soothe them both.

"Harry, please ... forgive me. Please show me your face."

Harry bowed his head reluctantly, but went back to his unveiling. He unwrapped his scarf slowly as though it were an elaborate headdress, and not a giant bandage. Eventually, after a protracted minute at least, Hermione's eyes saw Harry's skin for the first time.

Or, at least, the little that he still had _left_.

Hermione's eyes widened as the true extent of the injury was revealed. It was worse that she could ever have pictured in the worst of her nightmares about it. She resolved to hold in her horror, to focus instead on her hatred for the man responsible. She bit on her tongue to restrain her gasp. Bit so hard that she drew blood, tasting its coppery flavour in her mouth.

Harry dropped his hands to his lap, his eye fixed firmly on the floor. He looked like he wanted to hug into himself and just disappear, or else re-wrap his face as quickly as possible. He couldn't look anywhere but at his feet and, despite what everyone said about his toughness, Hermione thought he looked incredibly vulnerable where she had forced him to be exposed like this. This wasn't the new Harry she'd been expecting. In fact, it reminded Hermione of the look Harry used to wear before he returned to the Dursleys during their Hogwarts years, as though bracing himself for misery and loneliness.

Hermione's heart sank into her own feet at the sight. She forced herself to look at Harry's scar, no matter how appalling it was. And it was _hideous_. There was no other way to describe it. It was rough, sore, weeping slightly with a pinkish pus. Truly disgusting. And it had a powerful stench of rank rotting and stale meat. It looked fresh, too, as though it might have happened just that morning. It was hard to look at, Hermione couldn't pretend that. She struggled to keep her gaze fixed on that wide, angry, purplish gash that spread from temple to chin, and destroyed everything in between. Even those parts of his face _not_ touched by the scar tissue seemed red and blotchy, as though heavily scorched by violent heat.

Or was that simply how Harry _blushed_ these days? The startling thought sobered Hermione up in a second ... that Harry could be this hurt yet still alive enough to be _embarrassed_ somehow normalised things in her mind.

 _For fucks sake, Hermione, grow up!_ She admonished herself. This was _Harry_ , wounded but still Harry. Still beautiful to her. She stared hard at his wrecked face, determined and resolute. He was alive. Viciously injured, but alive. Still alive enough to be beautifully ugly.

And Hermione could think of nothing more wondrous in that moment.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked gently. She was morbidly fascinated by how the scar would feel to touch.

Harry looked up, a little surprised. "It stings ... all the time," he admitted. "But I'm sort of used to it now."

That thought sliced to Hermione's heart. The very idea of Harry in pain might as well have been a disease all of its own. It made her sensible to his plight. She looked at him closely. Not in pity, she knew he wouldn't like that, but in deep concern. The more she looked, the less she saw the deep groove cutting his face in half. The Harry that she knew was still under that giant face-valley somewhere ... and Hermione was determined to find him.

"It gives you character," she said, trying to keep things light.

"It makes me a monster," Harry corrected.

"Hey - you are _not_ a monster! Don't talk like that."

"Hermione, come on ... look at me."

"I am," she said quietly. "I _really_ am. And I genuinely can't believe I'm able to say that. I can _look_ at you, Harry! I can't tell you how much I've wanted to be able to say those words!"

"Pretty sure this isn't what you had in mind," Harry muttered shyly.

"Hey, I was prepared to see you as a _ghost_ ," Hermione told him firmly. "Despite what you think ... _this_ is a million times better than any silly hope like _that_. You're alive, Harry ... I still cant believe that it's really true!"

They held each others gaze for the first time in half a decade. And in that moment, something they'd both been missing flooded back to them. They both felt it. It stirred emotions in both that had been buried for far too long. Hermione couldn't resist grinning at the sensation.

"So, are you going to tell me where you've been for five years, or do I have to curse a confession from you?"

Harry started to laugh, then checked himself. He didn't laugh, didn't let himself. Hermione remembered Neville telling her so.

"You're approaching this awfully calmly," said Harry somewhat warily. "I'm supposed to spend at least a month apologising to you before we start being civil, you know."

Hermione huffed. "You aren't going to accept that I don't hold you any ill will, are you?" Harry shook his head and Hermione huffed again. "Neville told me you'd become so stubborn that you'd give _me_ a run for my money in that department, but I didn't really believe it till now. Fine, I'll permit you one, clear-your-conscience apology. Just know that it is _utterly_ unnecessary."

"How can you say that?" Harry cried. "I left you in the hands of a monster of a man, who has abused and tortured you since he was allowed to get away with it! I can only imagine what sort of horrors you've had to endure under Ron's hands."

"None of which are _your_ fault!" Hermione cried back, his passionate equal. "Whatever happened to take you away wasn't your fault, either. And I know you would have come for me if you'd known what was happening. You _did_."

"But I was a little late, don't you think?"

Hermione stared at him, astonished. "You coming back _from the dead_ was never too late for me!"

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but he was stumped. "I'm just really sorry ... more than I could ever express."

"I _know_ you are," said Hermione softly. She shifted onto the bench next to him, as close as she dared. That was a risk in itself, but Harry didn't run for cover. Emboldened, Hermione continued. "I've been told, night and day, by house-elves and witches alike just how sorry you are. And all I've wanted was to see you and tell you that you don't need to be. You came for me, Harry ... you _saved_ me."

Harry swallowed. Hermione could see the lump in his throat. "I saved you."

"You did," she smiled. "And I can't tell you how grateful I am. But _you_ can tell me where you've been all this time. I've bloody missed you, you know."

Harry couldn't prevent a laugh this time. He glowered good-naturedly at Hermione. "Stop that."

She inclined her head. She wanted a story. She wasn't going to be deflected from that course.

"Oh, fine. Where shall I start?" Harry asked with a surrendering sigh.

"How about the last time we saw each other?" said Hermione. "It breaks my heart to say those words, but we can fix that now. So start there."

Harry scoffed. "That's going to make this a _very_ long story."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "We appear to have plenty of time. Besides, you have five years of not talking to me to make up for."

"Fine, but no interruptions. I don't approve of my own laughter."

"No promises, Harry."

He frowned at her playful smirk. "Fine. But can I _please_ put my scarf back on? I feel ... sort of ... _naked_ without it."

Hermione thought about making a saucy comment, but decided it was way too soon for that. She looked at the boyish expression on Harry's face, that inexplicable vulnerability, and gave in.

"Okay, but I was just getting used to your lopsided smiles. I'd better get to see them again."

"We'll see," Harry replied, rewrapping his face so fast Hermione barely saw his hands moving. "Right. From the beginning ... I left you in the Great Hall, didn't I? On the night of the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Hermione nodded. She was being compliant so far ... but she missed Harry's face already, hideous scar or not. That was odd to her.

"Snape's memories," Harry began. His words weighed heavily on him. They hung in the air. "I went to Dumbledore's Pensieve. I viewed them, saw lots of interesting things. I foolishly believed every single one of them. Long and short of it? Dumbledore thought I was a Horcrux. He sent me to die in the forest."

Hermione clasped her hand to her mouth. "He _what!_ How could he have thought you were a Horcrux? _"_

"He thought Tom Riddle had created me as one the night he killed my parents."

Hermione felt a surge of anger. "He thought Voldemort had turned you into a Horcrux?"

Harry flinched angrily. "Please don't use that foul affectation around me again. His name is Tom Riddle. He's just a man, Hermione. Evil as fuck, but just regular flesh and blood. Please don't use that foolish title around me again."

"Sorry," said Hermione, biting her lip, seeing the _new_ Harry for the first time. She couldn't help but feel an odd _something_ at his take-charge attitude. Whatever it was, she found she liked it. It suited him. "But Dumbledore thought he'd meant to use you as a Horcrux?"

"Or to make one. The old coot wasn't really clear about that. It's pretty standard for him, to be honest. The problem is, he should have known better. Horcrux creation is a dark, but highly difficult piece of magic to perform. But do you know the one thing, the unmistakably most crucial element needed to perform the rite? A _fucking_ body, Hermione! You need to be able to hold a wand and say words! Old Tom was utterly destroyed in his body. There is literally _no way_ he could have created a Horcrux or separated his soul without it. Senile Dumbledore seemed to ignore this most basic of facts."

Harry was breathing heavily, angrily. Hermione waited with baited patience. Harry needed to vent and she was more than happy to let him.

"But I was so dumb. You know me, blindly follow whatever Dumbledore said. Like he was some infallible god. Merlin, I was retarded. So Dumbledore thought I was a Horcrux and that Tom would somehow _kill_ the Horcrux-bit in me without fully killing my body. Don't ask how ... he didn't totally explain that part, but I still went along with it.

"I stupidly believed Snape's memories. I should have known that was part of Dumbledore's master plan. He spelled his Pensieve to corrupt Snape's memories when they interacted, as though he expected that I'd get to see them in some fashion. Dunno if he knew Snape would have to be killed for it. Not that he would have cared. He was a sly old bastard as it turns out.

"So, the way it was put to me, I _had_ to die to give everyone a chance to live. He didn't tell me that I'd die and come back or anything. Just that I would die. End of. And I just believed it without question."

"Why didn't you come and speak to me about any of this!" Hermione cried hotly. She was almost yelling in her anger. "I could have told you how wrong Dumbledore was. I practically memorised that book on Horcrux creation."

"I know ... I know," said Harry, tiredly. "I placed my faith in Dumbledore above you. It was a massive, massive mistake. It led to everything that's happened since. Forgive me, Hermione. I was so, so wrong."

"Oi ... I allowed you _one_ apology. You're skirting your limits with two, Mister."

"I can't promise not to beg again," said Harry, fighting a smirk under his veil. "I've just got so much to regret with you. So, _so_ much ..."

Hermione felt a weird knot coil in her stomach and her heart leapt into her mouth. She shivered pleasantly under Harry's gaze. So fierce and protective, even with just one eye. It was startling.

"So, what happened in the Forest?"

Harry scoffed. "I opened the Snitch, the one I was left in Dumbledore's will, remember? Well, turns out he'd hidden the Resurrection Stone in it. I'd have plumped for a high security Gringotts vault, myself, but there we are."

"The _Resurrection Stone!_ The Deathly Hallow? ... you didn't ... _use it_ , did you?"

"Of course I did," said Harry bluntly. "I'd pissed myself on the way down to the Forest I was that afraid. So I used the Stone, hoping for a bit of support. I don't even know myself."

"Oh, _Harry!_ Don't you ever learn? That's why you should never go anywhere without me! You can't be trusted not to be so stupid!"

"I'll hold you to that," Harry said, his eye flashing shrewdly. "Anyway, it didn't work as it was meant to because I didn't have all the Hallows on me at the time. Oh, and the fact that Dumbledore had cast a nasty little jinx on it to produce controlled _facsimiles_ of the dead that would further his plan."

"Who came out?"

"My mum and dad, Sirius and Lupin," said Harry simply. "Formed a creepy little suicide squad that accompanied me to my death. I was mindless at that point, Hermione. I think I'd had a little break from reality, to tell the truth."

"Oh my dear lord!" Hermione whispered aghast. "That sounds horrific, Harry!"

"So, in we pop to the forest," Harry went on conversationally. "My mother and father, my godfather and my favourite teacher, all waving cheerfully as I stood in the middle of a circle of fifty Death Eaters and Riddle himself. I didn't even question it. My mum was practically _encouraging_ me to stand in front of Riddle's wand. What the fuck was up with that? The shame of my idiocy is almost as strong as my guilt over you. Almost."

"Then?" Hermione prodded.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry hissed dramatically. "Boom! I woke up and thought I was in some proto-afterlife. A misty version of Kings Cross. _Bumbledore_ was there. Tried to explain this complicated plan of his. I don't know if it was real, or a dream. All I know is that it was wrong, Hermione. _He was wrong_. Fundamentally.

"Meanwhile, back in the forest, Tom's getting to his feet and sending Narcissa Malfoy to make sure I'm dead. I'm not. But I'm in such a deep coma I might as well have been. What Riddle _doesn't_ know is that Narcissa is a double agent. She's on _my_ side. She's an Acolyte of St David ... part of a group that's been trying to look after me all my life. She lied to Riddle, he thought he'd won, killed me. Then Narcissa conspired a way to get my body away from Hogwarts. I woke up properly in a cold catacomb. Underneath _this_ house.

"It was five months later."

Hermione gasped again, her eyes wide and startled.

"I went absolutely mental, as you might guess," Harry went on. "For two weeks I was apparently wild. I had to be magically sedated in the end. Then my mind sort of caught up with my body and I settled down. I wanted to go straight out and back into the fight, to rescue everyone.

"But things had already changed by then. The final Phoenix members were dead. The heads of McGonagall and Shacklebolt were mounted, I heard, displayed in the foyer of the new Ministry of Magical Governance. Riddle brought into the open all the secret changes his insiders had been making. The Wizengamot was disbanded, the Ancient houses subjugated or slaughtered. It was chaos. But I don't need to tell _you_ any of that."

"No, it was pretty horrific," Hermione agreed. "And it just got worse once they started herding squibs and non-Purebloods into the camps. But where were you? Who were you with?"

"Narcissa sent me here, to the ancient seat of my family," Harry explained. "Celtic magic protected it, you know, as soon as I arrived and essentially took ownership. It activated all sorts of ancient protections. It's also the headquarters of an equally ancient group of knights, warrior-wizards sworn to protect my family line. The Knights of St David, they are called. I spent the first three months of my _resurrection_ learning all about them. My mother and father knew all about it, too. They were members, or under their protection."

"But why?"

"This is quite a big secret, Hermione ... can I trust you not to tell anyone?"

She huffed at his gentle teasing. "Of course you can."

Harry took a steadying gulp of air. "Generations ago, my family ruled a huge kingdom in this part of Wales. Their most famous king was a man named Owain Than-gwyn. You might know him by a slightly different name. Most of history certainly does."

"Which is?"

Harry scoffed at her. "This will be so much more dramatic if you let me tell it my way."

Hermione grinned at him and motioned him to continue.

"Anyway," Harry continued. "Owain was a giant of a man for his time. Easily six-foot-five at a time when most tall men barely reached five foot. He was a freak, an abhorration of nature. And he was an utter _animal_ in battle. Vicious and practically unbeatable, a beast of a warrior. It earned him the nickname of _The Bear._ Do you know what the old Welsh is for _bear_ , Hermione?"

"I don't know what the _current_ Welsh word for _bear_ is, Harry."

"Well, its _arth_ ," Harry explained patiently. "And the definitive article in Welsh is _ur."_

"So his nickname was _Ur Arth?_ " asked Hermione. "The Bear?"

"Sort of. But Welsh syntax is _the reverse_ of English. Have another go."

"So ... it's _Arth Ur ...?_ " Hermione's jaw dropped open. " _Arthur_... not _the_ Arthur?"

Harry just grinned at her.

"Merlin's beard!"

"Which brings us neatly to _him,"_ said Harry. "History became legend over the centuries, Hermione. Different writers embellished the story and the truth got buried somewhere. The reality is that Merlin was part of a triad relationship with Uther Pendragon and his wife, Igraine. Uther saw the advantage of having an offspring with powerful magical skill, so Merlin sired Arthur with Igraine. He's his true father. When Merlin was betrayed and murdered by one of his apprentices, Uther adopted Arthur as his own and the legend was born.

"A ritual circle - known as The Round Table - was built and Knights from all over the realm were sworn into a brotherhood, to protect the line of Kings. There are branches across the British Isles, but the original one was founded right here, at Arthur's birthplace. The Knights have guarded the bloodline for generations, and there are some pretty famous names on that list. Notably, Godric Gryffindor and, more lately, James Potter. And now ... _me."_

Hermione couldn't move. She just let her mouth flap open and made little squeaking noises as Harry told his story.

"When my father was killed, the Knights tried to find me," Harry went on. "My mother and father were getting heavily into ritual magic by that point. The Knights put them on that path well before my birth, and it intensified after they learned about the prophecy. My mother was inducted as an Acolyte, herself, after Hogwarts. They created a charm that would alert the Knights to my father's death. Unfortunately, Sirius got to me first and followed Dumbledore's orders to give me to Hagrid, who delivered me to Privet Drive. Thus began Dumbledore's ill-judged tyranny over me."

"Dumbledore loved you, Harry. I'm sure he did."

"Maybe he did." Harry took a heavy, patient breath. "But Dumbledore was a hundred-and-fifty years old and was borderline senile. He made mistake after mistake with me since I was thrust into orphanhood. His catalogue of errors _made_ my life the hell it was. There was a support network for me right here. Dumbledore disregarded it, did his own thing. Broke a dozen laws in the process. But that's for another day.

"His biggest mistake was regarding the prophecy. Of not understanding what they are, or how they truly work."

Hermione edged forwards, impatient for the explanation.

"Dumbledore, like you, never paid much mind to divination or prophetic magic. You cast it off as 'woolly' and unreliable."

"It _is_ woolly and unreliable," said Hermione, crossly.

Harry smiled at her. A sad, lopsided smile that didn't reach the smashed side of his lips or his one eye that Hermione could still see. But the impact still hit her nonetheless.

"I can't pretend to not be disappointed in you. I expected your experiences to have given you greater insight."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" asked Hermione. She wasn't getting any less cross.

Harry sighed. "You were once the custodian of a Time-Turner. It was a flagrant risk on Dumbledore's part to give you that, by the way. It put, literally, the entire world in danger. Entrusting _time itself_ to a thirteen year old girl, no matter how gifted you were? With Tom Riddle looking for any way of returning to power? What the actual fuck was he thinking?"

Hermione was affronted, but at the same time horrified. She knew that Harry was making a very valid point, but he didn't press it.

"Anyway, what was the main rule you learned about the Time-Turner? The one thing you _couldn't_ do with it?"

Hermione thought. "I couldn't go _forwards_ in time, only back."

"Precisely. And why was that?"

"Because the future hasn't been written yet," Hermione recited. McGonagall's voice was still clear in her mind, as if she'd met with the Deputy Headmistress at the start of her third Hogwarts year just yesterday.

"So where does prophecy fit into that?" Harry pressed. "How can one accurately, succinctly predict an unwritten future?"

"Obviously, you _can't._ " Hermione was getting a bit annoyed with Harry's maddeningly patient air. She had a wild, fleeting idea of what it was like to talk to _herself_ when she was explaining something, and being smug about it. She would have to stop doing that. "Hence why divination is woolly, unreliable and, frankly, a load of old rubbish."

Harry smiled at her gently. He didn't want to make her angry, that wasn't his intention, but her manner was amusing him. He spoke softly with his next words.

"Yet you blindly followed me on a quest to destroy Horcruxes, to defeat Tom Riddle, when you _knew_ my limitations as a wizard compared to him. When the best hope we had lay in a _prophecy_ \- a prediction of an _unwritten future_ \- that said I was _fated_ to kill him. But gave no indication of how."

Hermione stared at him. Her mouth had fallen open again at the obviousness of his explanation. "Well, yes ... but I ... what I mean to say is that ... well ..."

Harry gave a bark of a laugh. "It's okay to say you followed me because we were friends. I only let you come for that very reason. But the prophecy was still both our biggest source of hope and most horrific dose of reality. Apparently, I had the _power_ to beat Riddle, but the reality was that none of us knew what that power was or how to harness it.

"Old Dumbledore said it was _love_. Bullshit. He thought if I sacrificed myself to Riddle I would save everyone. That my sacrifice would be like a giant version of what _he thought_ my mum's was for me. Like I'm so fucking special that my death meant more than that of _anyone_ else who laid down their lives in defence of those they loved. It was one of Dumbledore's more obscure mistakes."

"Then your mum dying for you _wasn't_ the thing which gave you protection? But what about with Quirrell?" asked Hermione.

Harry smiled at her, it flashed a spark of emerald into the viridian of his eye. "You love to think. I love watching the process flit over your face. Indulge me, for old times sake."

Hermione blushed and scrunched up her nose as she considered the problem. It was unbearably cute. Harry blinked to stop himself staring.

"Your mother and father knew of your heritage," Hermione mused. "They were getting into naturalistic forms of magic after they found out. And they knew Vold ... sorry, _Riddle ..._ was coming for you."

"Good. Go on."

"And your mother was excellent at Charms and Potions," Hermione continued. Harry nodded. Hermione's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "They _knew_ you were going to be attacked! Your mother _prepared_ you for it?"

"Good girl," said Harry, lightly. "My mother and father turned their house into a ritual space as soon as Dumbledore essentially imprisoned them there. They needed to be ready. But, more than that, they knew what was going to happen."

"In what way?"

"By understanding the nuances of the prophecy," said Harry. "This branch of magic is a tricky thing. If you know something is going to happen, do your actions lead inevitably to it, or do they _make_ it occur? Even if you try to prevent it? It's impossible to know. But the difference between my parents and Dumbledore is that my father was equally as clever as him and my mother far more insightful. Together, they understood the prophecy far beyond Dumbledore's basic, flaky interpretation.

"You see, in his world view, either me or Riddle would die at the hands of the other. Basic as hell. No detail, no proactive effort to fulfil the terms. It would just _happen_. There it was, black and white. Fuck me, he was limited in his thinking. Anyway, my mother and father deconstructed it, realised that I would have a power which would enable me to win the fight. Dumbledore took it as Riddle _giving_ me the power when he cursed me. But the prophecy doesn't say that. In fact, it doesn't describe that power at all. He marked me as his equal, but to beat him, I'd have to be his _superior."_

 _"_ Okay. I'm with you so far."

"Stay with me," Harry quirked. "It gets complicated. So there it is, long and short. Me versus Riddle and I, somehow, have the capacity to win. My mum and dad knew that, but they surmised that Riddle would too, and that he would come for me. They also knew that to get to me, he'd have to go through them. They would stand and fight, do their utmost to protect me for as long as they could, but Tom Riddle is the most powerful sorcerer in five hundred years. They couldn't hope to win. But they knew _I_ could ... but obviously not as a baby."

Hermione gasped. "So they sacrificed themselves? To prepare you for the future."

"Merlin, you're catching on fast," said Harry, impressed. "Have I ever said how sexy your intelligence is?"

"Harry ..." said Hermione, flushing.

"I make no apologies," said Harry, unabashed. "I've faced death far too many times in my life to give very much thought to propriety these days. But anyway, my parents knew that they would almost certainly die at the hands of Riddle. It was simple cause and effect. They wouldn't allow that evil cunt to _mark_ me without resistance, so they knew that whatever ' _marking me'_ meant, it would only happen under duress. It was the _only_ part of the prophecy that was certain to happen.

"So, instead of running from it, they decided to _use_ it."

"Wow," said Hermione, quietly. She was still blushing from being called sexy. She hadn't felt that in a while. She pushed it aside for now, albeit reluctantly. "But they could have just kept running."

"And deny the world the only chance of freedom from Riddle?" asked Harry. "It would have been cowardly and shameful, just as if we had left that god-awful tent and Apparated away to Outer Mongolia and just left magical Britain to fend for itself. They couldn't live with that any more than we could. With the idea of all those deaths on their hands. So they tried to do something extremely brave with what they knew.

"They were going to die. They knew that. Somehow, despite any effort they made, Riddle would find them and kill them to get to me. That fact was something they could _use_. My mum worked out how. She was as logical as you, see, and understood Riddle would get to them via a weakness in their circle. He would torture and kill all their friends one by one to find them. They started with the Longbottoms. Poor Frank and Alice ... left to the depravity of the Lestranges. It was Riddle's insurance policy, in case he'd chosen the wrong boy to go after.

"My mum knew what would happen next. It would be Sirius or Lupin or even Petunia. And why should they suffer just to delay the inevitable? So they refused Dumbledore as Secret Keeper. They correctly guessed Riddle would target Pettigrew, the weakest of the Marauders. So they made him Secret Keeper, then began a considered campaign to marginalise him, belittle him, even. To make him _think_ they were keeping him out of the inner circle and all the plans therein. It was psychological warfare against their friend, to drive him _to_ Riddle. To save him being tortured by him. To play on his weaknesses and insecurities to ultimately keep him alive."

"Harry! That's terrible!"

"It's _dubious_ , yes, but they had the best intentions," said Harry. "They wanted to draw Riddle to them, and save Pettigrew into the bargain, without it looking like that was what they were doing. They wanted Riddle in _their_ space, where they would have the advantage, without him knowing it, without raising suspicions. He would be so mindless of the perceived victory, he'd make mistakes. He always does. It's a fundamental flaw of his. And their plan worked."

"But you said they couldn't beat him."

"Not in the conventional sense, no," Harry agreed. "But Riddle was doomed the moment he entered that house. It was their love versus his hate at that point. But on _their_ ground, on _their_ terms. They set ritual and runic traps for him everywhere and my father led him into each one. He was ridiculously brave, and so obscenely clever. They all drew aspects of Riddle's power, duplicated it, then channelled it into me. The final one - the one that killed my Dad - was a Parseltongue spell. He didn't even defend himself. He used blood magic on his death to funnel that ability into me."

"So that Riddle couldn't use snakes against you?" Hermione breathed. She was slightly punch-drunk at the revelations.

"Or so that I could potentially use them against _him,_ " Harry pointed out. "Making us equal, neutering that advantage he had."

"Or, if you think about it, giving _you_ the advantage," said Hermione, excitedly. "Remember how the basilisk at Hogwarts answered to you? Maybe it recognised you as superior?"

"More than likely," said Harry, nodding. "Either way, it was part of my parent's plan to bring me to Riddle's level."

"So, what did your mum do?"

"Take a guess," said Harry. "I wasn't kidding when I said I love watching you think."

Hermione coloured again. "A charm, maybe? Intensified by a ritual?"

"Spot on," said Harry. "Ten points to Team Hermione. It was a very _specific_ charm. My mum invented it. It meant that Riddle's harmful magic or intent couldn't ever really go to its full effect against me, and me _alone_. My mum used her death to power the spell. It's borderline necromancy, but I try not to think about that. It had to be clever enough to deceive Riddle ... to allow him to _hurt_ me a little, but ultimately _not_ be able to kill me with magic. He is arrogant, but very far from stupid. He would have worked it out if he'd known, so he had to be prevented from suspecting anything.

"So, Quirrell couldn't touch me, not because some magic in my skin was repelling him - like stupid old Albus thought - but because he was actively trying to hurt me. When Riddle touched me in the graveyard, he was just making a point. If he'd tried to strangle me, or something, he would have received the same pain as Quirrell.

"So ... the _power he knows not_ is my ability to be immune to his magic. He doesn't know that ... and he will keep coming for me like a fool. And I'm powerful enough now to cut him down when he finds me. I just want to have a bit of revenge fun against him first. He's earned that, I think."

"Ah, I understand," said Hermione. "I think. The charm was against any intent to _hurt_ you, not simply _touch_ you. Your mum pretty much warded you against Riddle's hate of you."

"Right again, and that's still the case. It's why I survived the Killing Curse. I'm not some miracle child impervious to the curse, I'm just immune to _Riddle's Killing Curse._ Or any of his curses, actually. It's why I didn't suffer as badly as I should have from his Cruciatus." Harry's breathing hitched. He turned on the stone bench to face Hermione fully for the first time, unspeakable sorrow filling his eye. "I ... I know what you went through ... at Malfoy Manor ... at the hands of that _bitch_ Lestrange. Through _you_ , I finally know what _Crucio_ actually feels like. And I'm so, so sorry you had to ..."

Harry's power of speech failed him in a surge of guilty anger. In the absence of words, he leant over and pressed a shaking hand to Hermione's still wounded chest. He closed his eyes and breathed rapidly in and out. It was a pained, raspy series of gulps. Hermione gasped, too ... for it felt as though Harry was reaching inside her and trying to soothe her _actual_ pain with his fingertips. It was a breathtaking sensation.

"You still feel it," he whispered consolingly. "I _know_. I promise, when you've recovered your strength, I'll take you into ritual. I'll heal you, take this all away ... if you'll let me."

Hermione let out a choked sob, as though shocked by the promise, the compassion for her suffering. Nobody had understood before. Now Harry, through some innate process, suddenly _did_.

"I'll let you," she whimpered. She felt so small and weak, fragile in Harry's strong presence. Somehow, though, she felt safer and more protected than she could ever remember being. How was Harry _doing_ this? She didn't want to leave his side ever again if it meant feeling like this, and she shifted closer to him on impulse.

And, again, he didn't move away, but he did drop his hand away from her chest. Hermione felt more disappointed at _that_ than she knew was appropriate.

"I'll make all this up to you, Hermione, I really will," Harry vowed quietly, as much to himself as her.

"I know you will," she replied. "But you wont be making it up to _me_... you'll be making it up to _yourself._ I don't hold any of it against _you_ , I truly dont. But I know you too well to argue when you've got your mind set. I just trust you'll tell me when you think you're forgiven!"

Harry laughed at that. "Shut up, Hermione. You're making me laugh. I don't do laughing."

"So I've heard," said Hermione. "We will have to address that. But tell me, if Riddle didn't kill you with Avada Kedavra in the Forest, why did you _look_ dead?"

"I was massively comatose, the curse was powerful enough to do _that_ at least," Harry explained. "Like I said, I remember the curse, meeting Dumbledore in the afterlife, but when I woke up it was months later. Narcissa Malfoy cast a charm on me to make my skin cold and mask my pulse. I would have appeared dead to anyone who checked."

"But they built a pyre and set you _on fire_!" Hermione exclaimed. "I saw it. Well, I saw what I could through my tears."

Harry's heart ached at the concept of _Hermione distraught._ His anger flared and the once steady trees nearby flapped wildly as his magic pulsed out around them. Hermione sucked in her surprise at the display, then took a tentative step. Neville had said Harry didn't allow anyone to touch him ... but he'd touched _her,_ to calm her.

And turnabout was fair play, after all.

So she cautiously tracked a hand up his arm and splayed it firmly against his chest. Harry's breathing caught in his throat, but he didn't stop her or withdraw. His heart was hammering so hard she was genuinely worried for him. But there was something inherently wonderful about feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingers, beating so strong, beating for her. Her own heart fluttered wildly at the sensation.

"That fire was yet another of showman Tom's errors," Harry went on after a moment of composure . "He really can be quite thick, for a wizard who is otherwise brilliant. The fire masked the phoenix apparition, which allowed me to escape suffering only superficial burns. They healed easily enough."

"But there was a body ..."

Harry sighed darkly. "That was also Narcissa's doing. She arranged the switch for one of the Hogwarts dead. To this day I don't know who it was. I'm not sure even she does. She just found some poor soul whose body shape was similar to mine, cut a massive scar into his face ... and, let's be fair, I'm so hideous who would want to check me close-up? ... then used a phoenix to switch the bodies on the pyre. Simple really, but effective. It happened so fast no-one was any the wiser. Even me. I just woke up in the catacombs with a sore face and a ton of questions."

Hermione sat back, considering Harry's words in wonder. "But I still don't understand why Narcissa helped you at all. You say she's an Acolyte of St David, but her husband was also a Death Eater."

"A marriage she took at great risk to herself, to be an insider to the enemy," Harry explained. "And to be able to keep a tab on me surreptitiously through Draco. She knew I was alive in that forest. She used quick Legilimency on me to see if Draco had survived. She saw that we saved and spared him. She's really very powerful, you know. Had she any lingering doubts about me, the act of saving her son convinced her to continue taking risks for me. She defied Riddle, lied directly to him, then facilitated my rescue. I don't need to tell you how brave a risk that was for her to take."

"But to do what? She must have known that without you the world had lost its beacon of hope," said Hermione. "That we'd all just crumble."

"She knew of the prophecy, all branches of the Knights did," said Harry. "So if I had survived Riddle, again, it must mean I was destined to win ... somehow, even if not _then_. Remember, at that point we had no idea how it was going to happen. It was quite an act of faith. She did her part, delivered my body to the Knights, then she took up her dual role again before anyone knew what had happened. She saved my life, Hermione."

Hermione nodded as she considered that. "But then what?"

"The Knights had a simple task - get me ready to face Riddle again. To rid the world of the greatest threat to me. It was the best way to keep me alive. So they devised a proactive programme to improve my combat skills, to introduce me to the powers of runic and ritual magic. They've spent the last five years working to that purpose. Actually, more than that."

"More?"

Harry nodded. "I'm a Potter, true to my name. We are alchemists, really. We take a transmuting agent - fire - and use it to turn a thing from one state to another. Accomplishing something nature would take much longer to achieve, to an exaggerated degree. That makes me a master of _time_ as well."

He pulled out a thin chain from around his neck. A very fine hourglass was suspended in a golden hoop within the chain. Hermione gasped as she saw it.

" _You_ have a Time-Turner!"

"Probably the oldest and most accurate one ever made," said Harry. "It was necessary to facilitate my training. I've probably aged a good two years more than I look due to using this thing."

"What training have you had?" asked Hermione, still marvelling at the Time-Turner.

"Where to start?" Harry sighed. "Understand, Hermione, they treated this as preparing me for a war. So I spent most of my time abroad. I was apprenticed to the _Zauber Geheimdeinst,_ or ZGD for short, in Germany for over a year."

"Who are the ZGD?"

"The German secret service branch of the International Confederation of Wizards," Harry explained.

Hermione's eyes widened. "You apprenticed with _Hit Wizards?"_

"The ZGD are the most highly-skilled and advanced organisation of their kind in the world," said Harry. "I was mentored by a wizard named Dietmar Friedrich. The guy is an absolute badass. He took me on missions with him. Highly against ZGD protocols, obviously, but for Harry Potter some rules can be broken."

"Harry, wait ... _missions_ , you say? What do you mean by that?"

"Yes. We went all over the world. You remember old Lockhart and his books? Well, that was my life for a while. Fighting Zombies in South Sudan was an interesting experience."

"Zombies?" asked Hermione. She had paled a little.

"Reanimated corpses, Inferi, that sort of thing. There was a warlord there that the ICW had been after for a while. When Didi was done with him the guy was no more than a dribbling vegetable."

Harry closed his eyes in reverence. Hermione was shaking her head in wonder.

"So you were trained as a Hit Wizard? Wow. What else?"

"After Berlin came Buenos Aires. I think," said Harry, frowning as he tried to remember. "Or did I go to Alaska first? No ... it was definitely Buenos Aires. That's when I met Diego Maradona. I still have his autograph somewhere, if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," Hermione replied in a sniffy voice. "But don't tell me you were in Argentina to meet famous footballers?"

"No, it was to be combat educated with a man named Florentin Perez," Harry explained. "Twelve times World Duelling Champion. I spent months working with him. Got more use of the Time-Turner there than anywhere. His closest challenger for the title, a French woman named Sophia Charlemagne, joined us for much of it. She is, frankly, terrifying. She has _two_ wands, you know."

"Really?" said Hermione in awe. "So, you're now a highly trained magical secret agent _and_ world-class dueller? This is getting pretty hot, Harry."

Harry shied away. "The ICW considers me a War Mage, First Class, actually. First one to reach that level in about two centuries."

"Hotter still," said Hermione, leaning back with a grin. "So, what, now you've come back to save the world?"

"No ... just to save _you_. The world can wait."

Harry and Hermione shared a look, one where another of those spears of emotion shot between them.

Hermione blushed hard. "Enola told me that ... and I didn't believe her. But I can tell from your voice that you mean it. Thank you, Harry. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say to something like that!"

Harry grinned. "I only came back to Britain when Neville contacted me. Said he needed back-up for a potentially dangerous mission. Turns out he was just going to propose to Enola and he wanted my support. He was a nervous wreck, bless him, but I pretty much had to stay after she said yes. Neville needed my long-term back-up on _that_ project!"

"How did Neville get involved with you in the first place, though?" Hermione asked. "He never explained that to me."

"He's a descendant of Gryffindor," said Harry. "Not Godric, but his younger brother, Taliesin. When he took possession of Gryffindor's sword to kill Nagini, it recognised he was in danger and transported him away. Poor Nev, he was trapped in a Gringotts vault in the pitch darkness for _three days_ until the Knights finally discovered whose vault he ended up in. He still doesn't like to sleep with all the lights off because of it, but don't tell him I told you that."

"Poor Neville!" Hermione cried. "Poor Enola! It's a wonder she gets any sleep at all!"

Harry quirked his eyebrow at her. "I didn't put your room too close to theirs, did I? I know they can get ... er ... pretty passionate sometimes. But I wanted you close to the people I trust the most, so they could watch over you when I'm not here. I was going to turn the whole East wing over to them for their amorous activities ... the rest of the castle would certainly approve ..."

"Harry!" Hermione admonished with a crimson blush, swatting at him playfully. Harry looked down to the spot where her palm had connected with his forearm. Hermione was horrified. "Harry ... I'm sorry. I didn't mean -"

"You know," he said quietly, cutting her off. "Normally, I don't like anyone touching me. _Hate it_ , actually. But with you ... I don't know ... I-I don't mind. I let Neville touch me for healing rituals and things. But he's the only one. And even that is just because I have no choice. I'd rather he didn't, to be honest."

"But you don't mind when it's _me_?" Hermione's voice quavered as she asked.

Harry shook his head and looked down at his forearm, where Hermione's hand had found its way to rest. He might have been looking at curiosity itself, such was the child-like expression on his face. Hermione took a shuddering breath and a huge risk. She brought her hand up, snaked it shakily around his shoulder. Harry tensed, then seemed to give in to her. Emboldened, she curled her other arm up and around his neck and linked her fingers together at his nape. Gently, and with several false starts of uncertainty, Hermione coaxed Harry's broken head slowly forwards, her heartrate exploding to an increasingly-furious hammering the closer he came.

Harry resisted until the very last minute, as though wary about what Hermione was doing. And then, when he was close enough to smell the lingering shampoo in her hair, he suddenly accepted what was happening, surrendered utterly and turned to rest his head on her shoulder. Hermione gasped breathily in surprise that Harry was allowing this at all, let alone _initiating_ any part of it.

Then, just like that, they were _hugging_ ... for the first time in five years.

Harry's whole body sagged into Hermione's soft embrace and she pulled him impossibly tight, with a snatched movement that ignored all her previous restraint. She felt years of tension in his body release, and then - in a reaction that stunned her completely - he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her practically into his lap. She went without a moments resistance. She didn't know what this was, or what was really happening, only that she wanted to be here more than any other place in the world.

She curled her fingers into his hair and placed a shy kiss to his forehead. She felt rather brazen, to be allowed such intimacy with a man renowned for his solitude.

"You know, I've been talking with Enola about you," she whispered breathily into his ear. "About _me_ and you, specifically. She's been saying some rather interesting things."

Harry laughed. "I bet she has. Like I said, she never could keep a secret."

"You're doing a pretty awful job of it yourself."

"Yet you're still here."

Hermione increased the pressure of their hug. "I didn't say that I didn't _like_ what she had to say ... but I don't like that _you_ didn't say those things to me yourself. I would have very much liked to hear them from you."

Harry took a turn at deepening their embrace, encouraged by Hermione's coaxing. There wasn't much more they could do before they fused together.

"I have my reasons, you'll just have to take my word for that," Harry hushed back.

"As I have _mine_ ," Hermione whispered. "For saying pretty much _exactly_ the same things to you!"

"Pity you're already married," Harry teased.

Hermione stiffened and scoffed loudly. "Don't ever mention that, Harry. I have no guilt if you don't."

"None at all," Harry replied. "But I could grant you a divorce, as I'm technically the ruler of this country. I have that sort of power, you know."

Hermione thought on that a moment. "I'd prefer you to make me a widow."

"Consider it done," said Harry darkly. "Any other favours?"

"Would you mind if I asked for one?"

Harry moved his head back and held her gaze with a steady look. The emerald sparkle was back in his eye.

"For you ... I'd do anything. Do you like the house? If things turn out right, it could be all yours."

Hermione gasped and felt a flush rush up from her chest at Harry's blatant suggestion. It was a little overwhelming. She gathered her rampant thoughts.

"Actually, I was going to ask you if you could go and rescue Susan Bones," said Hermione. "She's been my best friend for the last few years. She's married to Blaise Zabini and he batters her worse even than Ron did to me. I hate to think of her suffering still."

Hermione wasn't about to ignore the hurt and disappointed look in Harry's eye, though. She grinned at him mischievously.

"And, as far as the house goes, I think _we_ should have the East wing. It has the best view of the gardens. Besides, I've heard you often lose control when you get passionate and, if things _turn out right_ , you might get so passionate with _me_ that we'd _need_ a whole wing to ourselves!"

Harry's mouth fell open a moment, before he fell back laughing.

"And my face doesn't bother you?"

"Harry - I swear we will find a way to fix that," said Hermione. "I wont rest till I know how. But if we never do, I wont care one bit. If we do it, we'll do it for you."

"Then in lieu, let me do what I can for you," said Harry, standing.

Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You're going for Susan _now?_ "

"My Lady's wish is my command," Harry declared, stoutly. "And if Susan is getting beaten up by Zabini, as you say, I wont let her stay there a moment longer than she has to. Besides, I've been itching to use _this_."

Harry flicked his robe to reveal the shining silver sword dangling from his hip.

"Harry ..." Hermione whispered breathlessly. "Is that ...?"

Harry smiled. "Yes it is. And _Excalibur_ hasn't tasted blood in _centuries_. She must be thirsty."

And with that Harry swept away without another word, leaving Hermione feeling hotter than the sun.


	7. Kingly Favours

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry withdrew the blade of Excalibur from the second Death Eater's chest with a deeply satisfying _sschhinng._ One of the main lessons he'd learned from the ZGD was not to be showy in battle, not to toy with his prey. Acquire your target, eliminate as quickly and efficiently as possible, don't give them time to react or raise an alarm.

He'd also learned that while Disillusionment Charms were useful, his Invisibility Cloak was far better.

As he surveyed the wreckage he'd caused, he accepted that he'd absorbed both these lessons _very_ well. He sheathed Excalibur and drew his wand, tapping it to the frame of his glasses. He didn't often wear them anymore. Frankly, perched on top of his turban-like shawls, they made him look rather ridiculous. A single contact lens was far more sensible.

But glasses still had a use, and as Harry cancelled the Night Vision and Body Heat detection spells he'd cast on them, he was potently reminded of this fact. His Cloak had shielded _him_ completely from the surveillance and scanning charms the Death Eater guards had been using. They hadn't seen him coming, whereas his lone eye had been fixed on the glowing heat signatures of their bodies.

Bodies now turning cold at his feet.

Harry cast a defence diagnostic rune in the air, pushed his magic into it and shot it at the house. His wand was behaving in a peculiar manner. It was leaving behind a light trail every time he waved it. It looked pretty cool against the darkness of the night, but Harry was suspicious of the change. He thought he knew what was causing it though.

The magic of the Potter Legacy was still settling on him. Or, rather, _unsettling_ him. It hadn't yet been properly absorbed and the magical base of his being was tentatively resisting it. He would have to get into ritual soon to deal with it. He was shivery and shaky, as one is after being severely sick. It was distracting.

Though he half thought Hermione might have something to do with that.

He was a little mindless after their reunion, positively euphoric over the hug they'd shared. She wasn't supposed to have reacted like that, or said the incredible things she had. Harry was rattled by it, his careful plan shattered into a thousand wondrous pieces. He needed a new plan, and this gift to her would form its foundation.

The rune returned to him and Harry grinned darkly in triumph as he absorbed it. Zabini's guards hadn't got the house wards up in time. He would be utterly unprepared. Harry stood and touched his wand to his temple.

"Angharad! Myfanwy! Rhian!" he whispered.

In a soft _whoosh_ the two witches materialised next to him. They were dressed in identical floor-length, dragonhide battle robes, though they looked more like trenchcoats. Black for the most part, with patchy red scales all down the front, and rune-carved dragon teeth toggles. Both had their wands drawn and throbbing with their magic. A second later and Rhian joined them with a light _pop_.

"I want you to move the bodies," Harry said lowly, addressing the witches. "Prepare a ritual circle. Nothing fancy."

"Purpose?" Angharad queried.

"I'm going to rip the Dark Mark from Zabini when I'm done with him," said Harry coldly. "Use it to send a little message to Riddle and all those he's Marked. I want them to know what happens to people who get in the way of me completing a favour for Hermione. These two will increase the effectiveness of the rite."

"The Power of Three," said Myfanwy, nodding her approval.

Harry returned her nod, then turned to his Head Elf. "I need you to pack up Miss Bones' things and take her to the Palace as soon as I have her. Let Lady Hermione know as soon as you get her settled, will you?"

"Yes, Master Harry," said Rhian stoutly.

Harry turned once again to the house. In two flicks of his wand he'd vanished the back door and cast a Muffling Charm on himself. The power of both caused a gentle breeze to swirl around the garden. It had another, more subtle note, too, not that _Harry_ ever picked up on it.

"Is it just me, or is Harry's magic just the _hottest_ fucking thing?" asked Angharad, slightly breathily as Harry stalked into the house.

"No, love, my knickers are pretty wet, too," Myfanwy replied, her eyes bright and flushed.

"We _so_ have to learn how he does that," said Angharad.

Myfanwy nodded enthusiastically. "That Hermione girl is one _lucky_ witch! Or she very soon _will_ be!"

Harry heaved heavy, determined breaths as he crossed the threshold and into a kitchen. There was one, half discarded meal on the dining table. Harry snarled at it, anger stirring at its meaning. He didn't pause. He headed down a hallway into the living room. The door was ajar and Harry spied Zabini, sprawled languidly and sipping from a large glass of claret, on a hearthrug clearly made of unicorn hide. Indeed, the horn was the base of a small, glass coffee table.

Zabini was watching a series of adverts on the Wizarding Broadcast Network. One advocated the benefits of signing up children to the Junior Death Eaters Club, a fun covenant dedicated to comradeship, Pureblood advancement and the joys of practising magic in reverence of the Lord Voldemort. A second advised on ways citizens could spot deviant, anti-Voldemort behaviour and the relevant authorities to report such incidents to.

Harry growled at the sight. It startled Zabini, but before he could even move Harry had hit him with a high level Stunner, _levicorpus_ and a Body-Bind hex in a chain-cast, each spell drawing power from the last and increasing exponentially in potency as a result. Harry's fury had infused the spell so fiercely he'd overpowered the Body-Bind, resulting in the crushing of most of Zabini's sternum and collapsing a lung, so tight was the bind.

But Harry didn't even blink as he heard the bones shatter. Nor as Zabini screamed out in agony and fainted from the pain. Satisfied Zabini was subdued, Harry searched the house for Susan. When he found her, his heart stopped. A second later his rage exploded out so forcefully it decimated an antique carriage clock on a side table nearby, shattering it into a thousand shards.

For Susan looked every inch her maiden name. Bones - a very wounded bag of them was all she was. Clearly, Zabini had been starving her. She looked thin and frail, fragile to the point of breaking. But this wasn't the worst part.

She was chained up to a wall, slumped on the bare wooden floor with her wrists in manacles that caused her arms to stretch above her head. It was as if she were being _crucified_. Her head had lolled where she'd been blatantly knocked out recently. She had two deep black eyes, her right cheek was angrily bruised and swollen, her lip sporting a fresh cut that was still bleeding.

An image flashed into Harry's mind, one so terrifying that he was actually afraid of his own acute, focused anger as it ignited in him. Hermione ... in this position ... chained and beaten ... Ron swilling expensive wine, as if it were his reward for doing it ...

And Harry let out a roar so loud, so full of uncontrolled fury, of intense, acidic hatred that it obliterated all the windows in the house and sent a crack racing through the brickwork right to the foundations. He wanted to push it into a ley line ... follow each one till he found Ron, wherever he might be ...

And set him on fire where he stood.

But that wouldn't be nearly satisfying enough. Ron deserved far more. Harry resolved that he would get it. He took several gulps of clean, cool air. There was plenty around now the windows had been busted out. The sudden gusts had roused Susan, who was staring up at him with confused, frightened eyes.

Harry knelt down, mindful not to stress Susan further by making any sudden movements. She looked incredibly timid, cowering away and backing towards the wall. Harry felt another surge of anger swell within him. Susan's eyes were so puffed up and swollen she could barely see out of them.

"It's alright, Susan, you're safe now," Harry whispered in what he hoped was a comforting voice. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who are you?"

There was a sharp, urgent _pop_ and Rhian appeared at Harry's side.

"Master Harry!" Rhian admonished. "The windows! What yous be _doing_ up here! Ohhh!"

The elf gasped as she saw Susan's condition. Roiling fury sparked in her wide eyes.

"Release her, please, Rhian," said Harry. "My hands are shaking too much. I don't trust myself to not accidentally hurt her."

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Harry? Harry _who_?" asked Susan, as Rhian snapped her fingers and the binds on Susan's wrists clicked open.

"It's me, Susan. Harry Potter."

Susan gasped in shock. " _Fuck off!_ I don't believe you. Show me your face."

"I know it's a near impossibility, considering everything," Harry began. "But I'm going to have to ask you to trust me. And I cant show you my face. I'm sorry, but I have legitimate reasons. Hermione will explain everything when you see her."

"Minny! Is she _alive_!? Please tell me she is. We were certain Malfoy had tortured her to death."

"She is, and she asked me to come and fetch you," Harry repeated, biting against his own new fury. "She's hurt, but getting better. Malfoy didn't lay a fucking _finger_ on her, trust me on _that_. I'm going to send you to her, where you'll both be safe, while I deal with that utter bastard husband of yours."

Susan stiffened in front of him. "Harry ... if that's really you ... please, I'd like to stay. I'd like to see what you do to him."

"Sue, you're badly injured and need immediate help. You're very weak."

"I have strength enough for this."

Harry looked at Rhian and they were of one mind, but Sue was determined. Harry conceded.

"Very well," said Harry. "Be warned ... I don't intend to make this pretty."

"I hope you make it as ugly as possible," said Susan, darkly.

"Come along then," said Harry, standing. "Rhian, gather Miss Bones' things and send them home. Anything you want from the house, Sue?"

"Just the ashes," she replied dourly.

Harry smiled at her. A smile as twisted as he felt. "As you wish. Can you make it downstairs? I don't want to offer you support if you're uncomfortable with male touch."

Susan looked up at him. "Sorry if I'm scowling. Gentlemanly conduct is pretty alien to me these days. Are you telling me Hermione has been enjoying this since she disappeared? That lucky little witch!"

Harry chuckled. "In fact, I only spoke to her this morning. First time I have since I rescued her. I'm so ashamed that I left her to the whims of that utter cunt Ron Weasley that I didn't think she'd want to see me. But Hermione said you've become great friends. She asked me to rescue you."

"And you just came?"

"Anything for Hermione."

"I always knew you loved each other!" said Susan, wryly. "It was the worst kept secret when we were at Hogwarts."

"Great Merlin! Am I that transparent?" Harry wondered aloud. "What makes you think that? And so quickly?"

Susan scoffed at him. "Ron was your best friend for years. You've just called him an _'utter cunt'_. And just for his treatment of Minny, I assume. You must know what he's been doing to her?"

Harry shuddered. "I can't think about that. I broke your house in half just by imagining a worst-case scenario. If I knew what _really_ happened ..."

"Exactly. Totally in love. Only love can be that destructive. I can hear it in your voice. She is a lucky little witch. I hope she knows it."

"She doesn't _look_ lucky," said Harry. "She can barely walk."

"Poor Minny," said Susan. "But, then again, neither can I. So, a shoulder, please."

Harry stepped close, took Susan's weight as she leaned on him. "Minny?"

"She doesn't really like it," Susan confessed. "But seriously ... four syllables? There must be an easier way."

Harry chortled at that. He'd always tried to fashion a nickname or abbreviation for Hermione, but nothing had ever quite seemed right. "Speaking of easier ways ... lets forget about that. I'm all for the hard road with Blaise. Tell me now if you're squeamish or harbour any emotion for your husband. I don't intend to be gentle."

Susan rounded on him. "I've been battered and starved to within an inch of my life. I don't have Stockholm Syndrome, you know. You do as you please, just make it painful."

Harry smiled darkly. "Oh ... I specialise in _that_."

They moved slowly, gingerly down the stairs and into the living room. Susan halted at the sight of Blaise, suspended in mid-air, his chest distorted and unnaturally compressed.

"What did you _do_ to him?" she breathed.

"Just a welcome gift," said Harry. "He might not survive it. But he'll survive long enough."

Susan cocked her battered face to him. "When did you get so dark? It's kind of sexy, you know."

"I've been told," said Harry simply. "Just have a seat. This is my arena now."

Susan did as she was told. Harry threw off his cloak and Susan watched with bulging eyes. Harry's head was covered with a balaclava made of some kind of animal hide. It looked snake-like, scaly. Maybe basilisk. It was scored with strange symbols and markings which glowed and hummed as they caught the light. They coated Harry's head with a sort of film of heaving magical energy that was so intense Susan could feel it from her seat several feet away. Then Harry flicked out his wand. A wave of magical power swept the room as if wand and hand had fused. It made Susan's hair stick on end and the skin on her neck crept with sensation. She was a mix of wary and completely safe. It was utterly jarring.

But Harry had mind only for the suspended Death Eater under his control. He knew if he brought Zabini round he would die from his injuries. That wasn't on the cards just yet. He had several uses for him before that happened. The most pressing of which was closure for Hermione's best friend. Reluctantly, he cast several healing runes which would stabilise him. They wouldn't subdue all the pain, but they'd give him just enough to stay awake.

"Rennervate!"

Zabini came around, then screamed sickeningly as the pain hit. Harry cast a bored Silencing Charm on him. He rather thought Susan was enjoying it, but it was at such an annoying pitch that it irritated Harry immensely. For a few moments they just watched Blaise screeching silently. It was a bizarre sight. Then Harry turned to his captive.

"Hello Blaise. You fucking cunt."

He cancelled the Silencing Charm as Zabini tried to respond.

"Potter!? Is ... is that you under there?"

"No, it's my fucking brother borrowing my voice," Harry taunted, stalking around. "Don't try and struggle. The more you move, the more it will hurt. Actually, with that in mind ... move as much as you like."

Harry flicked his wand and cast a Shaking Charm at Zabini. The idea behind the spell was defensive - make your enemy so uncoordinated that they can't aim a counter-spell at you. But, in this case, it made Zabini's smashed body vibrate ... with agonising effects. His pained shriek was so piercing even Harry winced at it. He cancelled the spell.

"Merlin, what a pussy. I would say you cry like a girl, but that would insult all the granite-hard girls I know. I could do this all night ... but this isn't _my_ revenge."

Harry flicked his wand again. Zabini's robe fell away, leaving him naked and writhing in agony and embarrassment. Harry turned back to Susan.

"You know, back in the old days, the punishment for rape in the magical world was terrifyingly severe," Harry began conversationally. "Sue - how many times did this piece of shit rape you?"

"I never ... I never did ... Potter, please ..."

 _"Potter, please!"_ Harry mocked acridly. He flicked a Cutting Curse at Zabini which brought a deep gash across his cheek from lip to ear. Blood flowed from it profusely. "Your mouth wants to be so big ... I thought I'd help it out a bit. Speak out of turn again and I'll take your fat ugly tongue for good measure. Now, Sue, I ask again ... how many times did he _rape_ you?"

Harry let his emphasis hang awhile before pressing Susan for an answer. She sighed deeply.

"I stopped counting. It was ... w-weekly."

Harry clenched his jaw, his stomach coiling and uncoiling in angry rhythm. "Weekly," he repeated. "The punishment in the old world was castration. Testicular and penial castration. Now, Susan, I could teach you the Castration Hex that was the order of the day back then. One nice, clean _snip_ and the job was done. Or, we could just use a good, old-fashioned Severing Curse. It's blunt, and a tad more painful, mind you, so make your choice wisely."

"Sue ... please ..."

Susan curled her face angrily. "Don't you ' _Sue'_ me, you piece of filth. Cut him, Harry ... cut him to _little_ pieces."

Harry nodded, then flicked his wand. Zabini screamed as his left testicle was sliced clean off. Harry watched it roll across the floor, as Zabini's eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

"Stay with us, Blaise. You don't want to miss this. _Rennervate._ "

Zabini woke again, tears poured from his eyes. Harry didn't even see them. Another flick, another screech of agony, another testicle bounced across the floor. Harry slashed his wand again. The scream this time was louder than all the others combined. Harry wasn't surprised.

For he'd just sliced Zabini's penis jaggedly in half down the middle. That had to sting.

Two more swipes of Harry's wand, light trail following behind, and Zabini was completely relieved of his genitals. The pain robbed him of consciousness again. The blood loss cant have helped either, and the black-red pool beneath Zabini was a sight to behold at this point. Harry woke him angrily.

"Don't you dare pass out again!" Harry seethed. "How dare you! You brought this end on yourself! Now you will fucking watch it. Incendio!"

And Zabini whimpered as his severed genitalia went up in angry flames.

"You know I am a Parselmouth, yes?" Harry asked. "Well, there is an interesting spell in Parselmagic which prevents regrowth over magically-severed skin. You'd be amazed to know how many snakes can re-grow their bodies if not sliced at just the right point on the neck. So a clever Parselmouth developed this spell to prevent re-growth and the retribution which might follow. Here, let me show you."

Harry arced his wand, hissed the spell in snake-language and Zabini's bare groin glowed purple for a moment. The bleeding stopped instantly.

"There you go, all fixed," said Harry, icily calm. "Of course, it will mean you can never wield a penis again. But oh, silly me! What have I _done_ , Blaise? That will mean you can never have sex again, that you cant impregnate one of the skanky whores that Uncle Tom might have lined up for you. Oops. And if you cant _breed_ , you can have no more use to the Pureblood agenda! Oh dear ... my bad, Blaise. What will Riddle do with you now? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

Susan scoffed nearby. She knew full well what would happen. Her revenge was complete.

"Harry," she whispered. "I've seen enough. Can you help me?"

"Of course," said Harry. He hissed in Parseltongue again and Rhian appeared. He didn't want to give her name away in such a hostile environment. Harry turned to his most senior house-elf as soon as she was at his side. "You know what to do. Take good care of her."

"Yes, Master Harry," said Rhian. She took Susan by the hand and disappeared.

Harry span back to Zabini as he groaned in anguish again. He was still semi-naked, hanging upside down. Harry had an idea. He holstered his wand and drew Excalibur again. It positively pulsed with its own power. Harry moved close to Zabini, carefully slashing three shallow cuts across his chest. Each one shone with a deep orange glow, holding the swirling blood inside the ridges of the wounds. When looked at from this angle, they created an angry, lightening-shaped cut.

Harry thought he might have just started a trend.

Harry switched from sword to wand again and cancelled the levicorpus spell. Zabini fell in a heap to the ground with a dull thud. Harry flicked a binding spell at him and began to slowly pull his broken body behind him as he left the house. He wasn't careful to avoid obstacles. Or the rutted gravel driveway of the garden outside. Harry dragged Zabini away from the house, a short distance into the hills beyond, where Angharad and Myfanwy were waiting.

Angharad eyed the mark on Zabini's chest as they met. "Nice bruises, but what's with the _branding_?"

Harry chuckled. "Spur of the moment idea, I suppose."

"I approve," Angharad replied, nodding. "We should all do it."

"What's the ritual we are doing?" asked Myfanwy. She motioned at the circle and pentagram she had drawn, glowing white-hot on the ground and singeing the dry grasses nearby.

"I'm going to pull the Dark Mark from this cunt," said Harry, kicking Zabini viciously into the ritual circle. "Then I'm going to hijack the connection all three of these bastards have to Tom Riddles' _collective_. I'm going to use it to send the rest of them a message they'll not soon forget."

"I hope it will be painful," said Myfanwy, acidly. She casually toed the corpse of the dead Death Eater nearest her. He and his partner had been placed at key points around the circle. When Zabini had been rolled into place under Harry's boot, the grid lines connecting them flared up in angry greens and purples. Nothing, not even a whole coven of powerful sorcerers, could have moved them now without Harry's consent.

"It will burn like Fiendfyre in their veins," said Harry grimly. "Then I'm going to dispel their disgusting magic from me. Should be quite the display. I hope Ron Weasley gets to hear about it. He will _wish_ for this fate compared to what I'm going to do to him."

Harry stepped into the middle of the circle and threw his cloak onto the ground nearby. Without prompting, Angharad and Myfanwy moved into well practiced positions around the circle. They angled their wands towards Harry at the centre.

"May our purpose be just and Magic favour us," Harry began. "Do I have your will?"

"You have our will, and our power," the girls recited in chorus. The lines of the ritual circle shot upwards in sheets of brilliant light, before retreating and covering them in a dome of shimmering silver.

Harry nodded his thanks. Then he aimed his wand at Zabini, focusing on the coiled snake tattooed on his forearm.

"I draw this profanity, as poison from a wound. Let the spirit of the North winds, cut and slice."

Zabini shrieked again, perhaps for the last time in his life. The skin of his forearm was flayed off and soared to Harry, who trapped it inside a rune he cast deftly into the air in front of him. It shone a brilliant yellow as it revolved in place. Zabini passed out. Harry left him this time.

"Let the Water of the West cleanse and clean this abomination, if She sees fit," said Harry, pointing his wand at one of the Death Eaters. His own Dark Mark melted from his arm and joined Zabini's in the rune. "Let the Earth of the East take back the corrupt into the soil, if He sees fit."

The second Death Eater was relieved of his Dark Mark. The rune span in the air and glowed fiercely red and blood-orange. Harry watched it curiously, assessing it, pushing his own power into it. The ritual circle was, by now, in the throes of a potent whirlwind of air and magic. It whipped Myfanwy's long hair into a frenzy and the trailing end of Harry's shawl was threatening escape. Swift, swirling clouds had gathered in the previously clear skies above them. Dark, black, crackling with energy and power. Harry coaxed the rune high into the air at the apex of the circle.

"May the Fire of the South burn our enemies ... burn our very intent into the sky itself!"

Harry shot the rune, now burning a fiery white-gold, into the night sky at breathtaking speed. It snapped away from view with a clap of thunder so forceful that it shook the trees nearby. Harry looked up. There, high above the circle, the Sowilo rune he'd cast was firmly implanted into the clouds. If Tom Riddle and his followers used a skull to create fear after a murder, he would use a bolt of lightening to strike fright into _them_.

"Your anger is artistry itself," Angharad commented complimentarily.

"It is," Myfanwy agreed. "I hope they are all burning in agony right about now. Bastards."

"Come along ladies," said Harry. "As much as I'd like to stay around for the Death Eaters to come and investigate, I have other tasks for the night. Get yourselves home."

"Are you not coming?" asked Myfanwy.

"I'll be along," said Harry, holstering his wand and collecting his cloak as the light of the ritual circle finally faded away.

"What shall we tell Hermione?" asked Angharad. "She's bound to ask after you."

"Just tell her I've completed her favour, as she asked. Now, I'm going to get her a present."

"You know what, I might just reconsider being a lesbian," said Angharad thoughtfully. "Am I in with any sort of chance, Harry, before I renounce my sexuality?"

Harry grinned beneath his shawl. "As fit as you are, Ann, nope. No chance at all. Sorry."

"Ah well, didn't hurt to ask," said Angharad, smirking. "Just remember, I'm always up for a threesome. Just saying."

"Or a foursome," Myfanwy added. "The more the merrier."

"You girls are filthy," said Harry, shaking his head with a grin. "Now go."

And with that, all three Disapparated away.

* * *

Enola emerged from the bedroom looking exhausted. Hermione felt a shock of pity for her. She was a hell of a state. She'd been helping to work on Susan for at least thirty-six hours with barely any break and the effort involved was taking its toll.

For Susan's condition had been far more severe than anyone could have imagined. Her internal injuries were so terrible ... Alice Longbottom was seriously concerned that they might lose her altogether. Enola's mother, Arianwen, had been called in to help stabilise her. Arianwen had unique gifts, not just with ancient runic magic - in which she mentored Harry - but also with crystal-based magic. It had taken a few false tries, but they'd eventually found a configuration of healing stones that worked. Susan was now held within a field of vibrational frequencies from the crystals that were keeping her alive.

But only just.

Hermione choked back her sickness at the thought, just as Enola practically stumbled into her arms. Her eyes were dull, glazed, her usually immaculate features taut and strained. The poor girl was in dire need of rest. But Hermione had needs of her own, namely finding out the condition of her best friend.

"Enola! Are you alright?" Hermione yelped, as Neville's wife clutched at her robes to keep her balance. Hermione curled an arm around Enola and guided her to the chair she had been using as a vigil-stool, ever since Susan had arrived at the Blue Palace. Enola slumped into it and took several heavy breaths.

"I'll be okay," said Enola, waving a hand to ward off any more overbearing attention. "As for your friend ... that's not so cut and dried. She was so damaged, so much hurt beneath the surface. If she'd stayed there more than a couple of days longer ... I think she might have actually died."

Hermione felt her throat constrict at the news. "Will she recover?"

"We've had to sedate her for now," said Enola, trying to sit up. "Magically-induced coma. It buys us some time. We will have to remove and regrow the bones in both her arms, one leg and much of her ribcage. As her for jaw and face ... that will need cosmetic reconstruction once all that swelling goes down. She's been broken, and re-broken, without being allowed to heal and re-set properly. She lives in constant danger of puncturing an organ. Her bones are all at odd angles inside."

"Merlin forbid!" Hermione exclaimed. "Poor Sue ... I knew she had it worse than me. But she never said it was quite so bad!"

Hermione clenched her fists and sat down with her back against the wall. She was too concerned to be angry. That would come later. She closed her eyes and took a lungful of air. How could things have come to this?

"At the risk of sounding funny ... why the fuck didn't you girls _fight back?!"_ Enola asked firmly. "You shouldn't have allowed this."

"I know, I know," said Hermione, ruefully. "We had nowhere to run to. But, looking back, maybe death would have been a blessing by comparison."

"And at least you could have taken some of them with you," said Enola. "What a bunch of cunts! Rhian!"

The Head Elf popped into the air next to Enola. She immediately handed over a vial of pinkish liquid.

"Your Pepper-Up potion, Lady Longbottom," said Rhian. "Drink, now."

Enola uncorked the vial and swallowed the liquid. She sagged back into the chair as the effects kicked in quickly.

"Thank you, Rhian. How's my baby?"

"You be meaning Baby Ally or Master Neville? Yous be calling him 'baby' nearly as much."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to hold in a giggle.

"The baby who poops itself," said Enola, somewhat crossly.

Rhian looked back, swarthy and affronted at Enola's tone. "Master Neville often poop himself. Especially when him and Master Harry get into the elfish ale ... he not have the stomach for it. He drink like little pixie girl. If Rhian had a Galleon for every time she have to clean him up ..."

Hermione couldn't hold back a laugh this time. Enola looked mortified.

"Well, yes ... but ..."

"Now, _Master Harry_... he be knocking back beer like a mountain troll. I say he learned from the Germans. Their ale be exceptional, even for elves's standards."

"It must be the beer purity laws," said Hermione, trying not to rock with the giggles flooding her.

"Must be, Lady Hermione," said Rhian, nodding sagely.

"Is there any news on where Harry is, anyway?" Hermione proffered quickly. "Has he returned yet?"

"He's only been gone three days, Min," said Enola, quirking an eyebrow at her. "That's nothing for him, really. You should get used to him being away like this. Aww, are you _missing_ him?"

"Yes, terribly," said Hermione, simply and without ceremony. Enola looked taken aback by her curtness. "Did Susan give you that nickname for me? I hate it, by the way. People are always trying to shorten my name. I'll never know why."

"Hermione is just so _long,_ " said Enola. "It's either Minny or Hermy, from when I thought your name was Hermy-Own. Pick one. That spelling really doesn't help, you know."

"A giant once called me Hermy," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"A giant! Now _that_ sounds like a story I'd like to hear!"

"It's not all that dramatic," said Hermione dismissively. "Unless you count me and Harry being made his surrogate parents for a while. I don't think it was a great introduction to parenthood for us. Maybe that's why neither of us had kids ..."

"Master Harry be much better now," said Rhian, proudly. "Just ask baby Ally."

"He is great with her," Enola agreed. "Speaking of which, it's time for her feed. And I'm sure she needs a change. Which of your elves are with her, Rhian?"

"No elf be with baby Ally right now, Lady Longbottom," said Rhian calmly.

"Don't tell me you've left her alone!"

The elf huffed and crossed her arms. "Rhian be insulted that yous be suggesting such a thing, Lady Longbottom! We's never leave baby Ally unattended."

"I'm sorry, Rhian, of course you wouldn't," said Enola placatingly. "But who's with her then?"

"Why, Master Harry, of course."

She said it so matter-of-factly that Hermione gasped aloud. Enola smirked at her. Hermione scrunched up her face in return.

"Harry's ... I mean, _Master_ Harry ... he's home?" asked Hermione, astonished. "For how long?"

"Not long, Lady Hermione," said Rhian. "Master Harry often go to see baby Ally first after a long time away. But, Lady Hermione, yous not need to call Master Harry ' _master'._ He not be liking it."

"Why not?"

"Why would?" Rhian countered. "Lady Hermione be Master Harry's _proper_ Lady... if she not be really dumb. Be Lady of the House one day, Mistress of the elves. Unless she be really, _really_ dumb. All elves be hoping she not. All be loving Lady Hermione, look forward to having her as Mistress. Master Harry not be _her_ Master ... be her equal. But really, Lady Hermione be the Boss ... men folk be needing hand-holding and guidance. Same for elves, same for witches and wizards."

Hermione felt her jaw fall open. Enola just hooted with laughter.

"Worst. Kept. Secret. Ever," said Enola, vibrating with giggles. "Come on, let's reunite these unrequited lovers, Rhian."

The Head Elf held out her hands. Hermione and Enola took one each and they were Apparated right up to the nursery. Rhian popped away again almost instantly. Hermione turned to Enola with an amused grin.

"Unrequited lovers? Really?"

"I could have gone the whole hog and plumped for _Ringless Betrothed_ ," said Enola fairly. "Honestly, the change in the air of the place since you've arrived ... you know the estate pretty much reflects Harry's mood, yeah? That's how he configured the nursery to respond to Alison and not him, once he worked out that's what was going on. The ritual took twenty-six hours. Harry didn't falter once. But now the rest of the palace is practically rocking with happiness ... _h_ _is_ happiness. And that's all down to you. I've never known it to be like this. It's pretty fucking awesome, to tell the truth. Just do us all one little favour."

"What's that?" asked Hermione. She was blushing all sorts of scarlet.

"Please give us advanced notice before you shag him," said Enola simply. "It'll probably be so intense for him it'll have everyone in the palace orgasming simultaneously. It might cause a localised earthquake!"

"Ennie!" Hermione admonished playfully. Her blush was heating her from toes to earlobes at this point.

Enola simply shrugged. She wasn't joking.

Hermione tingled all over at the prospect. It excited her. She'd had sex plenty of times, most of it under severe duress, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd been aroused sexually. She felt it now. She considered it with a sense of embarrassment, bordering on shame. Sex had always been a chore, an extension of household tasks. To be frank, something to keep her alive, to keep her out of the Avada Chambers of the death camps. It had been the same for Sue, for Luna, for every other woman she knew. To even suggest _enjoying_ sex was functionally equivalent to admitting treason in their world.

But now, Hermione was stirred. Her loins were waking up after a slumber. The rampantly flowing sexual ideas of Harry quickly pooled a wetness in Hermione's knickers. It was utterly inappropriate and she flushed with the mortification of it. Hermione felt the dampness with slight self-disdain. What if anyone found out? Or picked up on the scent, the aroma of her arousal? The shame would be unbearable.

So she halted just as they were about to enter the nursery, to compose herself and cast a swift Cleaning Charm when Enola had her back turned. Then the sight which greeted them made her heart stop ... before beating furiously as it kicked back to life. She actually threw a hand to her chest as she surveyed the scene before her.

For it was unspeakably beautiful.

Harry was in the nursery, quite alone, apart from little Alison cwtched into his shoulder. He was rocking her gently, humming softly into her downy-haired head. One hand supported her, the other smoothed her back in rhythmic circles. Alison's tiny hands were curled fists in Harry's robes, as she purred in comfort. Hermione's breath caught in her lungs. It looked such a perfect scene. Harry was more content than she had ever seen him, untroubled, just dancing there with a babe in his arms. And, for just a moment, Hermione felt the most intense sense of longing and loss she'd ever known.

_That could have been him ... with OUR baby ... cuddling our daughter ..._

And, in that few seconds, she realised she'd never known herself quite as completely as she did right then. Known quite so succinctly what she wanted in life. But also what she _could_ have had ... and what she'd thought she'd lost. What Ron Weasley and Lord Voldemort had cost her. Hermione slumped against the frame of the door with the enormity of the revelations. It was as if all she'd ever fleetingly considered, ever cautiously desired in her life where Harry was concerned, suddenly pounded into her in an epic collision. It took her breath away.

Enola looked fondly at her, smiled knowingly. She had an innate gift for understanding. She slid a comforting arm around Hermione as Harry turned away from them.

"He's a natural at that, isn't he?" Enola whispered, motioning at Harry, cradling little Alison. Hermione could only nod. She had lost the power of coherent speech. "Alison was the first baby born to our little community here. Harry was insanely protective of her from the word 'go'. But she used to tug at his scarves and shawls all the time. It was the cutest thing.

"Harry doesn't know I know this, and please don't tell him ... but he started casting cosmetic enchantments on his face, even using Polyjuice potion, just so he could see the baby without wearing any coverings. He was convinced he'd frighten her with his scar. And he just couldn't _bear_ not to be able to see her. I was so heartbroken when I found out ... I just couldn't find a way to tell him that he didn't need to do any of it. Alison would love him as he was, just as we all do. He'd never accept that, of course, but one day, when Nev and I were exhausted after being part of a ritual, Ally woke up with terrible teething pains. Harry raced right to her, soothed her with a dummy and some light healing runes.

"Anyway, when I eventually dragged myself up, she was too busy giggling and trying to play with Harry's face to notice me. You see, in his haste to get to her, he'd forgotten to cast the cosmetic spells or put on a shawl. But Alison didn't care. She didn't see him as the monster he'd convinced himself he was. His face was just _funny_ to her, and she laughed _hysterically_ at him, like he was a beautifully ugly gargoyle. And Harry _laughed back_. I'd never heard him laugh before that. Not once ... not ever.

"I cried for a full half hour after hearing his laugh. It was the purest thing I'd ever heard. And Harry fell in love with my daughter that night. I'm so lucky that he did. I can't tell you how soundly I sleep knowing that someone like Harry is protecting her so fiercely in such a horrible world. He wont let anything happen to her. I'm beyond lucky. And so are you, despite all those horrors that have happened to you. Harry only ever lets Ally see him without his shawls by his own choice ... but now he's allowed _you_.

"And you really don't appreciate how big a thing that is for him, Min. You honestly can't. Not yet, anyway."

"It is?" said Hermione, hastily wiping at her wet cheeks and puffy eyes. She felt so humbled she thought she might melt into the carpet.

Enola nodded. "Harry comes across as all tough and hard - which he is, obviously - but he's also incredibly vulnerable under that granite exterior of his. The scar is his biggest reminder, his coverings the permanent shield. But he's let you in beyond that. Just do something for me ... be gentle with him. Please?"

"I will, I promise," said Hermione, faithfully.

"And, I know what you're probably thinking," Enola went on with a wry smile. "Why am I so concerned about Harry? So close to him? Maybe I'm a bit of a threat?"

Hermione scoffed. "What gave you that idea? Your flawless face, hourglass figure and perky tits?"

Enola laughed. "You forgot sparkling intelligence and ready wit!" Hermione laughed back. Enola looked at her seriously. "Just know this ... Harry and I have a closeness that goes beyond friendship, maybe beyond family. Perhaps one day he'll explain it to you. But the one thing we _aren't_ is _romantic_. Harry has eyes and a heart only for _you_ , and I'm ridiculously in love with Neville. It's been the same since I first met him. All Harry does is for you. Whether you want him or not doesn't matter, not even to him, really. It wouldn't change him. He'd still be the same even if you did, bizarrely, love that weasel you married."

Hermione scowled, genuinely offended. "I never loved him. Not like that. Ever."

"And Harry?"

"I never let myself completely fall, but I think I've always hoped a bit for Harry. More than a friend should, you know? It just never seemed to get started. But I'd never have objected if it did."

"Then maybe now's the time to _get it_ started," said Enola. "Merlin, I know Harry is _obsessed_ with you. Not in a stalker-type way. Well, maybe a little bit stalker-ish. But in its purest form. I've never known a man so in love. And to think you never gave it a try together ... it's baffling, really. What were you afraid of? Rejection?"

Hermione thought a moment. "No, not rejection. Not really. That was a worry, of course, but it was more a case of ... what if ... what if he actually felt the same? What would I do then? He would be a bit terrifying to have as a boyfriend. He's such a massive personality. So intense, too. But I would have been totally willing to take the risk if it was offered. That was scary in itself. I thought I was far too young to consider myself in love. And with my best friend, no less. So I suppressed that part of it. But he was so sexy on top of all that. I often dreamt of him being on top of _me_. It was ridiculously distracting. I only ever had one boy in those sorts of fantasies ..."

Hermione blushed furiously. Her heart was threatening to punch its way out of her chest as she ruefully reminisced. She turned to look at Harry again. Baby Alison had woken up and Harry had sat her on the floor. He was using his wand to conjure animals made of light for her to chase with her chubby little hands - here a stag, then a unicorn, now a hippogriff. Hermione was almost dizzy from the flutterings in her chest as she watched the delightful little display. That longing smothered her again. It seemed almost indecent to desire something like this, after all she'd been through, but so right at the same time. It was as if the past five years had been nothing more than a dark pause in reality.

"Well, look at you two," said Enola, leaving Hermione to her light-headed musings and crossing to her daughter and Harry. "Room for a couple more?"

Harry snapped his head at Hermione. In the same movement he re-coiled his shawl around his head by magic. Hermione felt sorry to see his face hide behind the linen. She was eager to see even his crookedest of smiles. She felt she could easily get used to them. So too, apparently, would little Alison. She whinnied as Harry's scar became obscured by the shawl.

"I did my best," said Harry, sadly. "Looks like nothing quite beats a mother's touch."

"That's right," Enola agreed with a grin. "But this little one just prefers her Godfather _unfettered."_

Harry shifted awkwardly. "She'll grow out of that." He turned to Hermione. "How's Susan?"

"Alive and on the mend," Hermione replied, smiling warmly. "Thank you."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Harry. He seemed to struggle for words. He bothered a loose thread in the hearthrug.

"Now, I understand, from Angharad, that you've been missing for days because you were getting me a present," said Hermione, smirking playfully. "Well? I'm waiting."

Harry chortled at her. "Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. I should tell you I was viciously maimed getting this gift for you. I hope you appreciate it."

Harry rose and opened a door just off to the left side of the nursery. Hermione looked over curiously, but only for a second. For as soon as the door opened she was under attack. The culprit was a great, bandy legged ball of bright orange fur.

"Crookshanks!" Hermione squealed, hugging the cat to her breast. "I was sure you'd be dead!"

"I have to say I agree," said Harry. "But he's got your survival spirit. He'd burrowed behind some loose boards in your basement wall. That's where I found him."

Hermione looked over, wide-eyed. "You ... you went to my _house_?"

"I'm glad you didn't call it your _home,"_ said Harry, sourly. "But yeah, I went there. I had half a mind to skin Ron if I found him. But _the Commandant_ wasn't in. Pity. Must have been overseeing more Squib torture. I hear he considers it a spectator sport these days. Still, it made recovering this little guy a bit easier."

Hermione smoothed Crookshanks behind his ears and looked at Harry shyly. "But ... why _did_ you go and rescue him, Harry?"

Harry looked confused, even a little hurt. "Aren't you happy to have him back?"

"Of course I am!" Hermione squeaked quickly. "But the risk you took was phenomenal ... and all for poor Crookshanks ..."

Harry sighed. "I'm not afraid of Ron, Riddle or the entire Death Eater army. But, you're wrong Hermione. I didn't do it for Crookshanks ... much as I like him, this was all for _you._ "

Hermione had no reply. She was fitfully embarrassed, but restless at being unable to articulate her immense gratitude. She wanted to hug Harry again, to kiss him until his lips swelled up. But she was mindful of his boundaries. A muffled 'thank you' was all she could manage. Enola came to the rescue.

"I think I have a baby that needs a new nappy," she said. "Come on, Minny. It's high time you learned how to do this. It might ... er ... come in useful one day."

Hermione flushed crimson. Even Harry was sensible of the inference. He cocked an eyebrow at Hermione.

"Minny?"

"Oh, don't you start!" she said crossly. Harry bellowed a laugh at her, and she blushed back, and they left Harry shaking a head as both ladies left the room, one smelly baby in tow.


	8. Riddles In The Dark

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Neville was sharpening the Sword of Gryffindor when he felt the disturbance. He was running a notched rock along the edge of the blade when a ripple swelled through the air. His father, who had been deeply meditating nearby, flew alert in a flash. His wand was in his hand before Neville even noticed his eyelids snap open. He'd never admit it, but his father would have been a bit of a hero of his even if they hadn't been related.

He was just hard as nails.

In less than a heartbeat, both Longbottoms were on their feet and sprinting towards the door. Neville felt his pulse quicken at his neck. A disturbance at the ward edge always meant intruders, accidental ones, usually, but if they were unfortunate supporters of Riddle they would get such a pasting that even their mothers wouldn't be able to recognise them.

Neville hoped they were some of the bad guys. Harry had started an open war last week when he sliced Blaise Zabini's manhood off, and Neville was itching to get in on the action. The propaganda tool that was the _Daily Prophet_ had covered the story extensively. Inaccurately, but extensively. An unnamed, faceless fresh enemy of the New World Order. One that just happened to use Harry Potter's famous scar-shape as a calling card. It was their brand identifier.

Surely, even the oft-moronic wizarding public couldn't be so dense to not see what was _really_ going on.

But then again, maybe not. Neville sighed with the realisation. When he and Harry finally saved this world, a programme of modernisation was in dire need of order. But first things first. Scores were lined up to be settled. And Neville hoped this would be the first one of many.

He knew it would fall to him to deal with whatever issue had suddenly arisen. Harry had left abruptly that morning, leaving Neville in charge of the Estate. Neville couldn't begin to guess where he might have gone, as Harry rarely told him such trifling details. After all, he hadn't told him he was going off to de-bollock Zabini, or to rescue Hermione's maniac cat. Perhaps he was going for a massage with some Veela. He was immune to them after all. It would keep him pure for Hermione whilst being nice and relaxing at the same time. Neville drooled at the thought of a multi-Veela massage ...

Then he slapped himself. Enola would de-bollock _him_ if she caught him thinking like that. She had never shown overt Seer ability, but Neville was cautiously convinced that his wife could read minds. Or, more specifically, read _his_. He was way too transparent, he knew that, but Occlumency was just far too hard. Harry was a Master at the old mental arts, but Neville, try as he might, just didn't have the patience for it.

He was more a fighter, and pretty pleased at his proficiency in the field. He secretly felt that, of all the wizards in the Secret Enclave, only Harry could out-duel him. This was nothing to be ashamed of, either. Harry could out-duel _anyone._ He had beaten the top four duellers in the world in one session not so long ago. At the same time. Harry had the irritating skill of being able to not be hit. He thought and moved so fast he might as well have been on a different plane of existence. Neville couldn't wait to see the work he'd make of Tom Riddle when the time was right ...

Just so long as he didn't make it _quick._

But that was Harry's job. Neville had his own, and as he reached the boundary of the Estate he quickly quietened his mind into combat mode. He focused on Enola, his stunningly beautiful wife and his perfect little daughter ... he wouldn't die for them. What would be the point? He would kill for them. Ruthlessly and relentlessly. Just to enjoy one more day with them. Merlin pity the fool who dared threaten them.

Neville halted at the boundary line. His father skidded into place alongside him. Moments later the other four members of Harry's Inner Circle were ranged in a line beside them. All their wands were drawn and throbbing with anxious energy. Neville stepped forwards and cast a rune into the air. He filled it with his magic and sent it at the boundary line. When it returned he would know if it was friend or foe, encroaching on the other side of the ward, trying to get in.

_**Friend** _

The rune couldn't lie. Neville trusted it as much as he would a promise from his mother. He lowered his wand and walked forward again, crossing the boundary and leaving the estate. He was greeted by a small, squat sort of man and a skinny, shockingly frightened girl tucked under his arm. Neville frowned at them.

"You endured the repelling charms of our outer wards," said Neville bluntly. "Your commitment to whatever cause you have is concerning. State your name and purpose before I kill you for trespassing."

"Please, we mean no harm or disrespect," said the man, bowing lowly. "I seek an audience with Lord Potter."

"There is no Lord Potter here," said Neville angrily. "Leave now, or face the consequences."

"Please ... I beg you," said the man. "I am Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed. This is my daughter, Branwen. We know Lord Harry Potter lives. His ascension to Lord of Avalon has activated all the old Seals of Power in Wales. The Old Kingdom is renewed. We have been waiting _centuries_ for this. We come only to pay homage."

"Say I believe you," said Neville. "What do you want?"

"Nothing more than a brief audience, to swear our allegiance to the Once and Future King, as custom dictates," said Pwyll. "If he is not home, we will wait. We consent to submit to any tests of truth and honour you wish to conduct."

Branwen, who was a young girl no older than fourteen, squeaked at her father's side. Neville frowned. He doubted she was a willing party in any of this ... whatever it might be. But he was inclined to believe them.

"You will submit your wands, and any other weapons you might be carrying," said Neville. "Understand, if I find you to be lying I will cut out your heart, and your lying tongue, and feed them to you. Clear?"

"Very clear, my Lord," said Pwyll. He handed over a plain wand and a curved-tipped sceptre, which served as his Badge of Office. His daughter was clean of any such affectations. Neville opened a gap in the ward and led them inside. After resealing it he turned to the other members of the Enclave

"Reinforce the ward, just in case. I'm taking these two to the palace."

"Who are they, Nev?" asked Frank Longbottom, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"The guy claims to be a local Prince. Dyfed ... it's one of the old counties nearby. Says Harry channelling King Arthur's spirit has reignited some sort of ancient power Seals. Harry expected something like this, I'm sure he'll know what to do. Don't worry. I'll get Fan and Ann to screen them thoroughly when I get to the house. Will you lead the reinforcement ritual? I know Harry favours O'Brien, but I'd be more comfortable with you."

"I'll do it," said Frank. "And if Patrick has a problem with it, I'll kick him right up his Irish arse."

"Dad! That's racist!"

"No, calling him a leprechaun would be racist. And heightist. And a whole host of other pseudo-crimes. But he's the least politically-correct wizard I know, so I wouldn't worry about it."

Neville chuckled. "I'll leave it with you then. Let me know when it's done."

"Yes, Boss!" said Frank sardonically, as Neville turned and led Pwyll and Branwen towards the large manor house. When they reached it, he turned to them before opening the door.

"You will submit to a series of tests and scans by our two Chiefs of Security, a pair of witches called Angharad and Myfanwy," Neville explained firmly. "If you resist at all, they are under strict edict from Lord Potter himself to take your lives as swiftly as possible. Don't test them. They are highly experienced at this. Many have died in the Inspection Suite. If you are genuine, you needn't worry. If you are not ... well, say any prayers, to whatever God you believe in, before I open the doors."

Pwyll gulped, Branwen whimpered and clutched at her father. Neville took their silence as compliance and stroked his finger along the centre parting of the large oak doors. They faded away slowly. Neville led the way inside and pointed to a small antechamber off to the right of the main courtyard. Pwyll and Branwen were herded inside just as Angharad and Myfanwy Apparated next to Neville and stalked purposefully into the room, wands drawn and pulsing ...

* * *

Hermione was beside herself with fury, incandescent with rage. She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. Poor Neville, who had endured a good five minutes of her tirade, was cowering away like a scolded child with nowhere to hide.

"You let them _across the ward_ without any sort of checks?!" Hermione cried in angry disbelief.

"I trusted them," said Neville, meekly. "Besides, the girls have screened them. They are harmless."

"But they could have been carrying _anything!"_ Hermione went on furiously. "Tracking charms, detection enchantments, fucking Muggle _BOMBS_! Are you actually insane?"

Neville mumbled something that sounded like _bididyboodily._ Behind him, Enola was shaking with laughter. Hermione scowled at her.

" _I_ don't think this is funny!" Hermione shrieked at her. She wished she could stomp around to emphasis her roiling frustration, but her hips were still being treacherous to her. So she just pinned her hands to them angrily instead. "It is an unacceptable security breach! I'm sure Harry will agree. Why are you _still_ laughing, Mrs Longbottom?"

Enola wiped her eyes. "Oh ... I'm sorry, Hermione. You're quite right and I completely agree with you. Neville, what were you _thinking,_ honey? Take your telling off like a man. But Min ... it's just that ... you're so _fierce_! You are so Harry's perfect queen, I can't tell you."

Hermione went to argue, but her head spun and her words caught at Enola's declaration. She had to stop being embarrassed like this. Real Queens didn't get so flustered at the mere mention of their Kings ...

"And I can just imagine how _hot_ Harry would find this," Enola continued. "You'd hear him panting a mile off if he could see!"

"And there was me trying to be discreet. I _have_ to work on my Silencing Charms!"

Assorted gasps and cries filled the air. It was Hermione who regained her senses first.

"Harry! How long have you been hiding there?"

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry, throwing off his Invisibility Cloak and striding into the centre of the room. "I was just enjoying the show. And, for the record, Ennie was _quite right ..._ about everything. Hotter than a nuclear reactor. But Nev ... what the actual fuck, mate? Letting strangers into our little haven so easily?"

"They are quite safe, Harry," said Neville, sheepishly. "Fan and Ann have vetted them and we've reinforced the wards."

"I know, I felt like I was being squeezed through a sausage machine when I came back in," said Harry, crossly. "Your Dad did a good job. I think he was showing off."

Neville grinned. "Sorry, Harry."

"Don't worry. Just try to inspect newcomers _outside_ our little shields, okay? Hermione is totally correct in what she said."

"Sorry, _Lady Potter_ ," Neville teased, grinning slyly at her. Hermione blushed madly.

"Shut up, LongArse," Harry teased. "Now - where are our guests?"

"The Reception Room on the Second Floor ... er, _recuperating_ ," said Neville, somewhat sheepishly. "Fanny was a bit ... _vigorous_ with her testing. She doesn't seem herself today."

Harry frowned. "She's been a bit like that lately. Ah ... it's coming up to Alwyn's anniversary, isn't it? I'll have a chat with her later, see if she needs to talk about it. In the meantime, I'd better go and meet this Prince. Um ... _Queen_ Hermione ... would you care to join me?"

Harry looked pointedly at Hermione, who was now so flushed she looked close to having a stroke.

"I'd better not," said Hermione. "I'm not sure I can walk all that way without support. I wouldn't want to slow you up."

"I have a pretty sturdy shoulder just begging for employment," said Harry, offering his arm. "Come on, I'd really appreciate your eyes on whoever these strange folk are downstairs."

Harry looked at Hermione so warmly she practically melted under his gaze. It was hypnotic. There was no way she could refuse him. She limped the short few steps to close the space between them and practically fell into his arms. She tensed, sure he would flinch from her invading his space. But, on the contrary, he hoisted her arm around his neck, slid his around her dainty waist and guided her from the room. They didn't leave each others gaze the entire time. Neville turned to Enola as soon as they were gone.

"I hope when they finally sleep together I am _far_ away from the house. The air is practically sub-Saharan in here over just one embrace!"

"I know," Enola agreed. "I've already told Minny to give me a heads up. It might _actually_ set the place on fire!"

"I'd better fireproof the furniture then," Neville mused thoughtfully. "Some of these tapestries are antiques ..."

* * *

Harry helped Hermione slowly down the main staircase of the house. He moved gently, wary of her injuries, but he was in no rush. She was pinned to his side, her breath warm against his neck. He was in no hurry to break this position and she seemed equally as content where she was. She was in acute discomfort, Harry could feel that physically, but she was also grinning, inside and out. It made Harry's own insides do the sorts of flips and turns that grown men really shouldn't be partial to.

But Harry loved each and every one.

He pulled Hermione closer with almost imperceptible movements. Sally had been wheeling her around the gardens that afternoon and now she smelled like apricots and daisies. Harry wished he could feel her skin. Her face was close to his, but she was purposely holding her head in place away from his scarf-covered cheek, mindful of his own tender injuries. A few times she made to place her head on his shoulder, but seemed to lose courage at the last second. Harry winced at the unusual awkwardness between them.

This was so alien for them both, he was sensible of that. For Harry's own part, he didn't share his personal space with anyone unless he absolutely had to. Apart from Neville's daughter, but she was only a baby so it didn't really count. And even that would diminish as she got older. Neville only placed his hands on Harry during ritual, Enola healed him with magic but _never_ touched him ... Harry's aura was a shield, his own unpowered ward. Nobody crossed that boundary.

But here was Hermione, invading his space without ceremony. Harry submitted to the intrusion willingly, urging his invisible ward to cover her, too. For she was also in need of healing, and as vulnerable as he. Touch had become something to recoil from ... the tortures she'd endured had conditioned her mind to automatically decide that physical contact with another human being was functionally equivalent to _hurting_. Harry was pointedly aware of these particular scars. Hermione was suffering with intense residual pain in her body, and Harry knew he was crossing fortified defensive lines with her emotionally, too.

But then they'd always been comfortable with a level of physical intimacy that was unusual between friends. It may have been five years, but that aspect of their relationship appeared unchanged, despite the myriad of negative things that both had endured in that time. Nevertheless, Harry was sensible enough to still be cautious.

"Is this ... okay?" he asked quietly. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, by getting so close up. I'll understand if you'd rather I didn't. After what you've been through, it's perfectly reasonable for you to push me away if I'm crossing lines that are still sore. The last thing I want is for you to mistake my desperation to help you as ... to think this is like ... to think that _I'm_ like ..."

"It's more than okay," Hermione whispered back eagerly, cutting Harry off before he talked himself into despair. She seemed to realise his concerns, and moved to dispel them quickly by curling in closer without any pretence that she meant to do anything else. "I've not felt this safe and protected, as I do when I'm around you, in the longest time. And being in your arms ... I could stay here forever and be happier for it. I know what you're trying to do, and what you're worried about ... but, believe me, I don't think I could _ever_ be uncomfortable around you. And the closer you are to my body, the _better._ I just worry that you wont let _me_ get close enough in return."

Harry's mind whirled at that. His skin positively crackled with electricity, and words failed him again. He reflected Hermione's comfort, but found it near impossible to tell her so. After preparing so long to simply grovel and apologise to her, to open up now in a much more intimate way might as well have required learning a new language. He realised this walk had been as much for him as it had for her ... to test the waters, assess the physical boundaries. Well, it was fair to say that the latter had been smashed to pieces.

"I'm sorry if that sounded a bit forward," said Hermione, quickly. "But we've lost out on so much time already. I don't see the point in pretending ... if we're both on the same page?"

It was a cautious question, one Harry was too afraid to answer right away. He would have rather faced a room full of Riddle's with no wand than look at Hermione right now. The promise was almost too much to hope for. But he knew he had to reply ... Hermione never was one for lingering silences.

"I know what page _I'm_ on," Harry said quietly. "I've been on it for the longest time."

"Not that you ever told me that," Hermione teased lightly. "Which you _should_ have. Keeping what might have turned out to be my favourite book from me, Harry ... I'll have to think up a suitably evil punishment for that!"

"I think we've both been punished enough for one lifetime, don't you?" Harry asked lowly, fixing his one eye on her. He sighed deeply. "That's why I'm finding this so hard ... to believe that you _want_ to be this close to me. It's too soon ... and much more than I deserve. It must be, especially for you. I'm finding it hard to accept your forgiveness so easily."

"It's no easier for _me_ , trying to believe even half the things that Enola and the others have been saying," Hermione replied gently. "About _your_ secrets, your hurt and regrets. I have them, too, Harry, however hard that is for you to believe. I cant tell you how frustrated I've been, listening to Enola and recognising all those feelings in myself that she was telling me _you_ had. It was so wrong of me, Harry, not to be more courageous with you when we were younger ... and I never, ever thought I'd get a chance to right those wrongs ... but now I do. And I don't want to waste any more time ... not if we both want the same thing."

"But you've been through such a terrible ordeal," Harry moaned weakly. "I can't wrap my head around how much you must have suffered. I might never forgive myself for not acting sooner. You'd have to accept that ... if you ever really joined me on _that page_. But I have no expectation of that. You need so much fixing, I know. I can feel it, and I'll spend my life helping you do that, without hoping for anything else."

Hermione huffed crossly. "Harry - you can be so dense sometimes. Chivalrous to the point of frustration! Haven't you ever considered what _I_ might want? Hasn't it occurred to you that I might want the same thing you do, and that it might actually _help_ in _fixing me_ , as you put it?"

"No," Harry replied bluntly. "I mean ... how _could_ you? I left you to ..."

"If you blame yourself for that _one more time_ I'm going to hex you silent for a month," said Hermione, curtly. "Enough of the self-loathing, okay? Ron hurt me, Riddle and his New World Order hurt me ... but _you_ never did. But you _are_ going to revenge for me, right the world for me. Win ... _for me_. And the first victory is going to be against yourself. Today. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry grinned.

"And as for my being so damaged, to be so severely wounded that I've forgotten the joys of love and sex and all the rest of it, as Ennie is convinced I am, let me just educate you on that. I'm not some precious little flower, you know, delicate and fragile. I was at your side for _seven_ years, and I picked up a few things along the way. I learned how to survived, I _endured_... despite the best efforts of all the Dark forces around me. I stayed sane and never lost hope. And do you know how?"

"How?"

"By hoping ... for _you,_ " said Hermione softly, curling in closer still. "By believing in _you_. Every year ... on the anniversary of ... of your ..." she stumbled at the words. She refused to say them now. "Anyway ... on _that date_ , I held a party. Every year, I hoped you'd come ... as a ghost, as a reincarnation, _anything_. It gave me the courage to stay alive. Part of me always knew you weren't really gone. I could _feel_ it, though I could never describe it in a way that other people could understand. I never gave up on you. Sue thought I was mental, but I kept on believing. And now I'm rewarded, not only with your life, but with ... whatever _this_ might be. What it could be ... what I truly _hope_ it will be."

"I can't guess _why_ you'd hope that," Harry mumbled, his voice on the verge of cracking. "But it'll be whatever you want it to be."

"No ... it'll be whatever _we_ want it to be," Hermione corrected, stopping and turning to him. "We've waited long enough to admit to each other how we feel, and _finally_ we haven't got to worry about what anyone else thinks. It's just me and you now, Harry. You want something, I want something ... and I'm rather keen to believe it's the _same_ thing."

Harry looked at her so fiercely Hermione was taken aback, her breath shuddered at the intensity of the scrutiny she was suddenly under. His one eye darted between her two, hunting for any sign of deception or dishonesty. There was none, but he continued to study her deeply, unable to easily accept this simple truth. Hermione waited for him. She knew she had to be patient. Slowly, in a moment she saw arrive with juddering force, as the meaning in his eye shifted fundamentally, he allowed himself to believe, if only a little. Hermione knew it was too much to expect a complete acceptance right away, but even this little alteration was earth-shattering for him.

And it made the walls of the hallway glow with brilliant, bright light for several seconds.

"Okay," Harry said after a moment, his eye glinting with the light from the walls. "You might not know what you're getting into, and you'll probably come to regret it, but let's see what Neville has gotten us into first ... then we can go somewhere private and talk about it."

"Okay," Hermione agreed. "Then we'll go and tell Neville off properly for putting up such a distraction between us!"

Harry chuckled at her, smiling a wonky, dopey, punch-drunk grin at the mouth-gap in his shawls. Hermione couldn't think of anything more beautiful in that moment. She tucked back into his side, saying nothing. Both were silent, letting their shared understanding settle on them as they headed for the Reception Room. They'd long negated the need for words to communicate between each other. Hermione realised just how much she'd missed that about their connection.

They entered the Reception Room together. It was a well-furnished room, with tapestries and paintings and comfortable sofas flanking the walls. On one of these sofas sat the two visitors. They looked flustered and flushed, as if they'd just stepped in from a fierce gale outside. Hermione couldn't help but glance out of one of the large windows. It was a calm, sunny day at the Blue Palace.

Just what _had_ Myfanwy put them through?

Hermione had little time to consider that. The short, middle-aged man had risen from the sofa as Harry approached. He hauled the bedraggled girl next to him to her feet, too. The poor thing looked petrified. She was actually trembling as she was dragged forwards and pulled into a bow at Harry's feet.

Harry considered the strangers carefully. The man was a simpering sort, the girl nothing more than a bundle of nerves.

"Arise, Prince Puth," said Harry. "You must forgive my pronunciation ... it's all those consonants, you see. I've never quite got to grips with them!"

"There is nothing to forgive, my Lord," said Pwyll, standing from his own curtsey.

"Why are you here?" asked Hermione, limping to Harry's side.

Pwyll eyed her warily but didn't reply. Harry scowled at his rudeness.

"The Lady asked you a question. Answer it."

Pwyll gulped. "Forgive me. I am Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, and I come to swear fealty to the Once and Future King, our Lord of Avalon. We offer our lives and lands into your service. As tradition dictates, we come with a gift to honour our oath." Pwyll prodded his terrified daughter forwards. "May I present my eldest daughter, Branwen. I humbly offer her as a potential bride to the Lord of Avalon, and pray you favour us with your consideration of my daughter as a suitable match."

Hermione actually gasped. Harry seethed with his own bubbling rage. Poor Branwen was simply white with fear. It was no wonder she was so afraid, if that was the reason she'd been dragged here. Harry felt so sincerely sorry for this girl's anguish. He breathed steadily to master his fury, to bring his swirling sea of emotions under his sway, as they skimmed the surface of his control enchantments.

"Step forward, Princess Branwen."

The girl did as she was told, stumbling nervously over the hem of her long dress until she was barely a foot away from Harry. She was a wiry, slight little thing. Harry wanted to wrap her in cotton wool in case she broke. Branwen made to bow, but Harry reached out and tucked a hand gently under her chin, easing her head up.

"A Princess never bows," Harry whispered, kindly. He knelt down instead, and was still nearly as tall as her, even though he was on his knees. "Always hold your head high. Now tell me, Princess Branwen, do you believe in love?"

Branwen gave a tiny, nervous nod.

"And do you hope to marry some day?"

She nodded again, but it was so cautious Harry almost missed it.

"And do you intend to marry for love?" Harry pressed.

Branwen cast a swift glance at her father. Harry seethed again, and ground his jaw.

"Do not look at _him._ I asked the question," said Harry firmly, making it clear his ire wasn't intended for Branwen Then he cast a very different look at Pwyll, who paled in the face of it. "Now, do you intend to marry for love?"

Branwen nodded shyly again, though much more vigorously than before.

Harry smiled at her. "So do I. Which is why I am going to have to respectfully decline this offer of marriage to you. This is meant as no slight against you, Princess. And I hope that I do not hurt your feelings or your honour in refusing you. But, you see, I am already in love with someone else, and I would only be a true and proper husband to _her_. And her _alone_. I hope you can understand that, and accept this rejection as best you can."

For the first time, Princess Branwen smiled. The relief which flooded her was palpable. Her eyes relaxed and colour suffused her skin. She was actually quite pretty, when she wasn't so inconsolably terrified.

"I take no offence, Lord Potter," she said timidly. "And I thank you for your honesty."

Harry smiled back at her. " _Only_ marry for love, Branwen. It is the only reason you will ever need."

"I will, my Lord."

Harry smiled at her and stood again. He turned to Pwyll, his smile turning to a growling grimace. "As for you, I want you to take a message back to the other Princes of the Old Kingdom - the next man who comes here with the intention of _pimping_ their daughters to me will be garrotted on sight ... by me personally. Is that clear?"

Pwyll quailed under the ferocity of Harry's one-eyed stare. He backed away from him with a nevous nod.

Then Hermione limped forwards and addressed the Prince. "You said you had a gift for us," she said. She flashed a quick, cautious look at Harry, questing for permission to continue. He beamed back with a racing heart and a small, encouraging nod. "I assume it wasn't this beautiful little girl of yours, as you proffered her up like a sacrificial offering. We view such a presentation as an _insult_ , rather than any sort of gift. So, what else have you brought us?"

Pwyll looked at Hermione, and respect followed understanding in his eyes as he looked between her and Harry. He realised his error immediately and was keen to atone.

"Forgive me, my Lady," he simpered. "But we do have a gift. My daughter is carrying it. Branwen ..."

The girl, who was looking more comfortable by the minute, reached into a pocket of her dress and drew out a small mahogany box.

And the atmosphere of the room changed in a instant.

It was as if someone had poured poison into the air. It thickened and congealed with it. Harry shot forwards and positioned himself instinctively between Hermione and the box. Branwen was holding it out like it might explode at any moment. Harry gathered himself, letting the initial burst of shock pass. He mastered his concern and drew his wand, casting it over the box. Then he shot a dangerous look at Pwyll.

"What is this?" he hissed lowly. "What evil have you brought to my sanctuary?"

"Just knowledge, my Lord," Pwyll begged. "Knowledge I felt certain you needed to possess."

"This box is _drenched_ in Dark Magic," Harry went on. "What is it?"

"Evidence of just how far Lord Voldemort has gone to pervert life itself," said Pwyll. Harry's attention piqued. "Inside is an object, and trapped within it is a soul fragment."

"A Horcrux?" Hermione breathed in low horror. "Harry ... be careful. A piece of _Voldemort_ is in there!"

"No ... no it isn't," said Harry, thoughtfully. He became calm and studious, deeply fascinated by the box but totally in command of the situation. Hermione swooned a little at how assured he was. He cast a series of diagnostic runes at the box, cast so fast his wand was a mere blur. "There's a Horcrux in there, to be sure, but something's not right."

"How so?"

"It has Riddle's signature, his residual energy, and I can feel that," Harry explained, taking the box in his free hand to examine it more closely. "But I also know what that Dark bastard's soul feels like. We both do. This isn't part of it."

"But it's _still_ a Horcrux?"

"Yes ... that's what I'm trying to understand. Give me a moment."

Harry conjured a containment ward around himself, ignoring Hermione's cries of objection, then continued with his casting, silencing his mind swiftly and delving into the deep, dark layers of the magical item before him. Then Harry ground his fists as he began to understand. He blinked as he came out of his casting trance. He looked at Pwyll, his eye wide and angry.

"Made ... _by_ him ... but not _from_ him?"

Pwyll nodded ... and Harry swore violently, causing young Branwen to turn her eyes down modestly.

"Harry ... I'm not sure I follow," said Hermione. She didn't like being slow on the uptake.

"Hermione ... it makes perfect sense, the most _horrific_ kind of sense ... how could I be so fucking stupid not to see ..." said Harry, clapping a hand to his forehead. He sat down, shaking. "Oh, clever, Tom ... very clever ..."

"See what?" Hermione pushed. She hobbled to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He didn't shrug her off. She knew he wouldn't. He welcomed her support.

"Hermione, we suspect that Riddle went through with his plan to split his soul into seven pieces," said Harry. "We can chalk off six of the Horcruxes he made - the ring, the diary, the locket, the diadem, the goblet, the snake - then there's whatever is left in Tom, himself. But we are working on the assumption that he actually made a _seventh_ Horcrux after he regained his body. It was his life's work. It made sense that he'd finish it first chance he got."

"But didn't Dumbledore always say he needed a significant death for Horcrux creation?" asked Hermione. "Who did he kill that was prominent enough?"

"We reckon it was Grindelwald," said Harry flatly, still rubbing his temples.

"Okay," said Hermione, processing that slowly. "That would do it. Ahh, so _that's_ where you keep disappearing to all the time! You're going off and trying to track down that seventh Horcrux?"

"Precisely. I'll never get anything past you, will I?"

"No, and don't think I'm ignoring the fact that you do this _by yourself_ , either," she said crossly. "I'm just parking it in my brain for now. But I'm going to _severely_ tell you off for this later, just so you know. But why are you suddenly so anxious? The seventh Horcrux is in that box. Just destroy it."

Harry looked at her and sighed. "That's the point ... it is a Horcrux ... but not _the Horcrux_."

"I'm confused. You said it has Vol ... sorry, _Riddle's_ ... energy all over it. You're going to teach me how you know things like that just by looking at something, by the way. I'm very jealous that you know all this advanced magic and are lording it over me. I can tell how much you're enjoying it!"

Harry chuckled at her. "We are equals now, Hermione. I'm afraid you're just going to have to get used to it! But to get back on topic, Tom knew that we threatened him before by taking out the other six of his Horcruxes. He can't let anyone get so close to defeating him again. So we can reasonably guess that his last Horcrux is under massive protection.

"That's why it's proving so hard to find. There's no point in going for Tom, if he can be resurrected every time using the last Horcrux, and he daren't make any more. But he _knows_ that I know his weakness ... and he must have taken out a contingency plan in case I _did_ find a way to return, or in case I'd passed on the secret of how to bring him down to someone else. The item in this box is his solution to that problem."

"So what is it?" Hermione pressed, eagerly.

"It's a _fake_ ," Harry announced triumphantly. "But not like the locket Regulus Black left in that cave with the Inferi. This is an _actual_ Horcrux, made by Riddle to fool any potential hunters trying to find and destroy them. He's created decoys, hoaxes, but he's carried out the ritual of Horcrux creation himself ... only he's used _other people's_ souls to fill the objects, and somehow made them look like they are _his_. Like I said ... this is very clever, Tom!"

Hermione let out a shocked gasp. "Made by him ... but not from him. My God Harry! But that could mean ..."

Harry sighed heavily and rubbed his eye. "I know ... it means that there could be dozens of decoys out there ... hundreds maybe. He might have made every one of his subjects submit. Even Ron might have had his soul spilt. I can't tell you how much I'm starting to hate him, you know."

"But Harry ... that would mean that none of them could be killed without destroying the Horcrux related to them! It would make his army essentially _unbeatable_."

Harry sighed heavily. "I know, Hermione. I know. And I could waste _years_ chasing Horcruxes that aren't the one I'm looking for. By the time I find the right one there might not be a Magical Britain worth saving."

"Oh for fucks sake!" Hermione cried angrily as her frustration bubbled over. Hot, furious tears spilled from her eyes. "This wont _ever_ end, will it?"

Pwyll coughed nearby. "You aren't alone in this fight, my Lord. You have allies everywhere. They will rally to your banner when you call."

"And I will rely on that support when the time is right," said Harry. "Thank you, Prince of Dyfed. You should leave now. I will take the Horcrux into ritual, understand and then destroy it. Thank you for bringing this item to me. Now take your daughter, and my message, back to the others. And for Merlin's Sake, Pwyll, try to be a better father to your little girl in future. In fact ... that's an order."

"Yes, my Lord," Pwyll bowed guiltily. Branwen curtseyed, smiled her thanks, and followed her father dutifully from the room.

Harry turned to Hermione as soon as they were gone. "How's your strength? I might have to borrow your power for this. It's been a long time since I faced a Horcrux and none of my new friends knows what it's like to come up against one. If you feel up for it ... I could really use your support. I'd rather not face it alone"

"I'm right here with you," said Hermione staunchly. She dried her eyes and set her shoulders. "Come on, we once made kicking Tom Riddle's arse a game we did for fun. We may not have played for a while, but I'm sure it will all come flooding back to us!"

Harry grinned. He hated Tom Riddle fiercely as he stood up. Not for all his catalogue of crimes, but for simply slashing his lips in half, for he wanted nothing more than to plant them on Hermione's at that moment. He would make that snake-raping son of a bitch pay for that one day.


	9. Transference

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Hermione was equal parts excited and nervous. She had never seen ritual magic performed before, and the promise of being part of such a first experience wasn't without its daunting elements. Harry had told her he needed her, and she was desperate to be good enough for him. Ritual magic was a big thing for Harry these days, so Hermione wanted to make herself a part of it, too. But the niggling doubts still lingered.

What if her power wasn't enough for him, or of the wrong sort? What if their combined magic didn't mesh? That might speak volumes for their compatibility in other ways. She quickly dispelled this particular fear as complete nonsense. They were nothing if not compatible, but what if she'd been tainted by all the secret curses Ron had cast on her? She didn't want to contaminate the ritual by bringing some hidden darkness to bear on the proceedings.

And Ron's lingering impact only furthered her concerns.

For Hermione had been so brow-beaten by Ron over the years that her confidence was on the floor ... and his mental abuses were easily the equal of any physical ones he might have visited on her. She could almost hear his voice in her head now, cruelly taunting her that she'd be too weak for something like this, and that it would lead Harry to realise that he'd made a huge mistake in rescuing her. He'd remember how worthless and pathetic she was, and send her packing within the hour. Then he'd move some pretty, _younger_ witch into the beautiful bedroom suite, which Hermione now covetously called her own, and then kick her through the shield wards, leaving to fend for herself in the dark world outside the walls of the Blue Palace.

She swallowed hard at the thought, but pushed herself to stop being so negative.

 _"He asked for you, silly, didn't he?"_ Hermione reminded herself, shyly. _"_ _Told you he needed you? That's the important bit ... Harry needs you. That's what he said."_

He had ... and so earnestly, too, as though he were singularly eager to share this form of magic with her. The thought cheered her, but only briefly. She knew Harry had always thought highly of her talents. She was even shyly allowing the notions that he valued and respected her above all others into her waking mind now. That took some accepting.

But it didn't make her automatically good enough to be a serious part of this key element in his magical life.

It was with these troubling thoughts racing through her brain that she followed Harry into the bowels of the palace towards the Ritual Chamber. He'd summoned Rhian, who had assembled the other wizards of his Inner Circle. All six were waiting for them as they arrived. Neville and his father were there, but Hermione didn't know the others. They all looked curiously at her as the two parties met.

"Are we letting an outsider be a part of this rite?" asked one of the wizards, tartly. He was a tall, tawny haired man dressed in the red tunic of a British Empire soldier. He looked out of his time here, amongst the more modern outfits being sported by the others. "That's a risk."

Harry growled lowly at him, a sound as much from his lion side as his human throat. "This is my closest and best friend. She is neither an outsider _nor_ a risk ... and I would trust her with my life. In any case, we are about to face a _Horcrux_ ... and I feel eminently safer with _her_ at my side than any of you. She is more experienced at dealing with this particular sort of evil than anybody else alive, including _me._ So ... any other objections before we proceed?"

Hermione blushed hotly and turned her eyes to the floor, masking a girlish grin that swept her face, as Harry glowered his challenge at all of the others in turn. Her earlier doubts had been obliterated in just one second by Harry's fierce defence of her. She so wished he would let her kiss him. Then again, she might not let go if he did ... and _death by kissing_ just wouldn't do!

The wizard who had spoken cowered back slightly. "Forgive me, my Lord. I was merely preaching caution ... lest the presence of a _lady_ unbalance either us or _her_ in the coming rite."

"Conscientious as always, Sir David," Harry smirked. "You go right on quoting standard ritual practice to me ... just not where _this_ Lady is concerned. I rely on your wisdom to check me at all other times. However, she _will_ be joining us in the cleansing of the object in my hand."

"Is it ... _dangerous_ for me to be here, Harry? For _you_ , I mean?" Hermione asked quietly, pulling him to one side. "What did your friend mean by _unbalance_?"

"I will it explain it in greater detail one day," Harry began. "But, for now, just understand that my Inner Circle was deliberately and thoughtfully constructed by me. These wizards were not simply chosen at random ... I recruited each man to bring his own type of skill to the Circle, powers I then use when we join together in this style of magic. It makes the Circle that much more effective when you cover every magical aspect that you can. But there's also the fact that we are all _wizards_ ... Sir David is merely concerned that the presence of a _female_ might disrupt the delicate cohesion of our unit."

"Then I _should_ stay away," Hermione muttered sadly, unable to mask her disappointment. "I don't belong with you in there."

Harry stepped close, speaking softly so that only Hermione could hear. "On the contrary ... that is _exactly_ where you belong. What Sir David and the others _don't_ know is that we've never cast ritual with a _full_ circle before. You see, when I designed my ritual space, I did it with everything I needed in mind. Then I filled the gaps in as I went along ... but I had to leave a spot open ... just in case.

"To own the truth ... I left one space clear, on the wild off-chance that the _greatest_ source of my power might one day fill it, take her rightful place there ... in short, I left it open for _you_."

Hermione blinked in her shock and gasped out a lungful of air. Harry simply grinned at her ... there was something about making her breathless like this that Harry could so easily get addicted to. He leant in close again.

"So, if you still want to join us, there's a place at my side that I saved just for you. But don't fret ... it doesn't mean that we're married or anything!"

"I do, Harry, I do!" Hermione teased back, playfully. Now it was _Harry's_ turn to lose his mind a little. "But I think you'd better introduce me to everyone first."

Harry nodded vigorously, shaking the concept of language back into his senses. He turned and addressed the others.

"Forgive me, my friends ... it seems that I've spent so much time in the company of Death Eaters over the past few days that I've completely forgotten my manners. To those of you unfortunate enough to have not made her acquaintance yet, allow me to introduce you to my oldest and closet ally. This is Mrs Hermione -"

" - _Miss_ Hermione Granger. And it's a pleasure to meet you all," Hermione corrected quickly. Then she scowled at Harry in a semi-playful manner. "By the way, Harry, if you _ever_ use that insult against me again, I'm afraid I'm going to have to hex you!"

Harry smirked lightly. "Forgive me, Miss _Granger_. Let me run you through the wizards who make up my Inner Circle. You've met Neville, of course, and that thinning-haired clone next to him is his father, Frank."

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Granger," said Frank Longbottom, proffering a hand. "Neville and Harry have told us all about you."

"All good things, I promise," said Neville, grinning.

"Right," said Harry. "Sir David Pincott is my paranoid friend to the left, then we have Patrick O'Brien, Thane Angus Kelvin - fourth Marquess of Ayr - and Baron Owain Glyndwr Jones, who is distantly related to the last King of Wales. How far in line to the throne are you, Owain, I forget?"

"Thirty-seventh," said Owain, somewhat pompously. "Though I'm still considering a legal challenge to that. Especially after Anthony Hopkins had his son anointed. That put him into twenty-second and knocked me down a spot. I tell you, just because he's a big name in Hollywood ..."

"I hear he's an accomplished wizard," said Patrick O'Brien, his Irish accent thick and lyrical. "He developed a potion to help adopt personality traits and combined it with a form of Legilimency. Fascinating stuff."

"Maybe that explains why his Hannibal Lecter was so freaky," Hermione mused, cheerfully. "Don't you have a title, Mr O'Brien?"

The Irish wizard laughed. "Not as such. But I am the living incumbent clan leader of the Tuatha De Danann. Makes me the most powerful wizard in Ireland."

"Even if he does say so himself," Harry returned, his eye flashing with mirth. "Right. That's the introductions out the way. Let's get this started."

"And what is _this,_ exactly?" asked Frank, as Sir David opened the Ritual Chamber and they all followed him inside. "What are we doing today?"

"The visitor I met with earlier is the current Prince of Dyfed, one of the ancient Home Kingdoms," Harry began. "Well, technically, they are _principalities_ , but let's not split hairs over semantics. Either way, he brought me the object in the box as a declaration of his fealty to me. It's dark as holy hell, as I'm sure you can all feel."

Harry placed the box on a high plinth at the heart of the raised ritual circle, where Hermione had first re-met Neville, and the other members of his Circle filed past it, assessing the thing.

" _Riddled_ with Dark Magic, you might say," Angus Kelvin offered in his Highland Scotch brogue, when his turn came.

"Quite," said Harry, his lips curving in a grimace.

"But what is it, Harry?" asked Frank. "You said it was a Horcrux ... but I'm assuming it's not _the_ Horcrux, or else you'd be running around like a man possessed."

"No, it isn't Tom Riddle's lost soul fragment," Harry confirmed. "However, this _was_ made by him. That Dark bastard has a potent magical signature that's quite distinctive. I can feel it in anything he's ever touched. It's like having rotten, fly-ridden, hairy dragon shit in your mouth and not being allowed to spit or swallow. I don't recommend it."

"What do you mean by _made_ _by him_?" Neville queried, holding the box and examining it. "How can that be, if it isn't his own?"

"Pwyll of Dyfed suggested to me that Riddle has used other people, split _their_ souls and trapped them inside objects, but cast all of the enchantments himself," Harry explained. "His magical signature is so strong that they would feel like his own Horcruxes. Well, to anyone but _me_ , because I can feel the subtle difference in the energetic vibrations. I was intimate with the internal nuances of that twat for a _long_ time, don't forget."

"Fuck me!" Neville exclaimed. "I didn't think that was even possible."

"Tom may be the world's biggest snake-bummer, but he's still quite brilliant," said Harry. "It does mean, however, that there could be any number of these decoys out there. Our task just got a little bit more complicated, gentlemen."

"And _lady_ ," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. She resolutely returned the surprised stares she received from each and every face. "What? You'd all better _believe_ I'm going to be a part of this. I have as much reason to hate Tom Riddle and his New World Order as any of you. More, perhaps. I may not be ready just yet, but I'm going to be as big a part of this resistance movement as I can be."

Sir David Pincott smiled at her and bowed. "I take it back, Miss Granger. You are most welcome here! That kind of feistiness is just the sort of thing we've been missing!"

"Flirt with her again, David, and I'll cut your willy off and post it to your wife!" Harry admonished, amused. Sir David grinned in return, but backed away with his hands raised in a gesture of peace just the same.

Hermione stepped close to Harry, and whispered to him playfully. "Was that a touch of _jealousy_ I just detected there, my Lord?"

"Rabidly so," said Harry unashamedly, his eye flashing brilliantly between both of hers.

"You being _jealous_ ... _over me_... that might just be the weirdest thing I've ever seen ... not to mention the absolute, number one most adorable, too."

"Sshh! Don't tell anyone ... cant have the old Death Eaters getting wind that I have an _adorable_ side. It would shatter my air of dangerous mystique, you know!"

Hermione laughed heartily. It was the final tonic to at last bury all of her earlier worries. Harry moved to the centre of the room and Hermione went with him, as if it were her right. The other members of Harry's Circle conceded to her in like fashion, parting for them with courteous bows. That stirred wild beatings in Hermione's chest for some unfathomable reason. It made her feel unspeakably close to Harry all of a sudden, as though she'd crossed some invisible boundary of intimacy without even realising it was there in the first place.

It was a boundary she had no intention of leaving now.

The Circle took up places around the edge of the Ritual Chamber and draw their wands. They began muttering lowly and, for a moment, Hermione was confused ... until she realised they weren't muttering at all ... they were _chanting_. Their words were too low for Hermione to make out and, in any case, she got the distinct impression that they weren't speaking English. Slowly, the chanting grew louder and louder, until they were all in sync like a well-practiced chorus. Then, each wizard raised his wand and shot out a glowing beam of white light, which all met at the apex above the plinth at the circle's centre.

And the effect was instant. The room became suffused with power, a field of intense magical energy unlike anything Hermione had ever experienced. It heaved and throbbed around them like a turbulent sea, igniting runes and alchemical symbols carved into the floor, walls and ceiling of the domed chamber. They flashed in electrifying multi-colour and vibrated with a power all of their own, joining with the swell of energy already swirling fiercely around them. Hermione felt the effect physically in her body. It was akin to standing next to a giant speaker at a concert and having the music pound into your bones. She was a little afraid of the sensation, and grabbed at Harry's arm on reflex.

"It's alright," he whispered soothingly to her. "You're quite safe. You have to know I wont let anything hurt you ever again?"

"I trust you, Harry."

"Then join with me," said Harry. "This is an induction ritual to join my Circle. You need to add your magic to it. The others wont work with you if they don't feel your honesty and intent."

"What do I do?"

"Let me guide you," said Harry. "I need you to relax your mind and your magic. You'll feel me trying to get in. If you trust me, don't fight it. Just give to it. Then I'll draw a bit of your magic to add to the circle. You'll feel the magic of the others when you join, but I'll keep them from getting too close. I don't want to share you that intimately, Hermione ... not with my closest friends ... not with _anyone_."

"I don't want to be shared ... I'm _yours_ ," she smiled back beautifully. She took a steadying breath. "And I'm ready."

It was a strange sensation. She felt Harry's hand on hers, then she felt his mind on hers, too. The feelings were strikingly similar. She would know his soft touch anywhere ... the contours of his fingers, the splay of his palm. His mind felt the same. But as it touched her own, she gasped breathily. It was intrusive, and invasive ... it seemed to catch at a point very deep in the centre of her. Harry might as well have shoved his hand down her knickers and flicked all his fingers at once. This sensation was in the same category as she imagined _that_ bold move would be ... only a hundred times more intimate ... and she fell in love with it at once. She didn't resist it at all as he moved tentatively across her mind.

And then his entire being was _all over her_ , cradling her spirit both on the inside of her body and without. It was like being inside a wonderful cocoon of Harry's essence. And it was so full of affection, so bubbling over with love _for her_ that she lost her breath as she tried to absorb the density of it. She never wanted this to go away. She was in a state of absolute, euphoric bliss and felt, for the first time in her life, so completely and utterly _loved_ that she was having a difficult time processing it. It was just that intense ... and it left her a little senseless.

For Hermione didn't think that the entire _world_ had this much love to give, let alone for it to be so concentrated in one person as it was in Harry. The fact that he was directing all of this towards _her_ was a concept Hermione struggled to define or describe. All she could think of was how it was almost _unfair_ on everyone else, that they didn't get to be so powerfully adored as she was.

In such a dreamy, light-headed state, Hermione barely noticed her magic being gently pulled like a stand of stray hair. Harry effortlessly blended it with his own and added it to the others. The room lit up on all sides. Then Harry stepped away, taking his essence from Hermione. The room seemed to drop in temperature as he went, and it was with a stabbing, sharp _pang_ that Hermione suddenly felt lost and distinctly _singular_. She wanted Harry back with her, _around_ _her_ , or whatever that had been. He belonged there ... and he wasn't allowed to leave her on her own anymore, not now that he'd teased her with the beauty of what they _could_ be if they ever joined properly together. She would have to tell him off later for not sharing this experience with her sooner.

But Harry was set to task now, singularly focused on the decoy Horcrux. He flicked open the box. Inside was a small, ruby-red amulet trimmed with copper wire crafted into an elaborate Celtic design. It looked delicate, fragile ... somehow unfit for the purpose being employed. Harry lifted it out and turned it with his wand, examining it at close quarters.

"Be careful, Harry!" Hermione hissed. "Horcruxes have defence mechanisms built in, don't forget!"

"Thanks ... I remember!" Harry quirked at her. "I never _did_ tell you how Slytherin's Locket tried to stop us, did I?"

"No. So tell me now," Hermione insisted.

Harry grinned at her. "Maybe later ... we might even end up _acting it out_. But it's not the kind of thing you'd want an audience for, trust me!"

Hermione's eyes flew wide as she applied wild guesses to Harry's suggestion. He just chuckled deeply as the understanding settled on her with a deep flush.

"Defence mechanisms?" asked Frank Longbottom, raising his wand in readiness to get them back on track.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Usually applied to the style of object used, or the part of Tom Riddle trapped inside."

"Part?" asked Neville. "You mean they were all different ... all had different bits of _him_ inside?"

Harry nodded again. "Yes, but I'm not entirely sure which bits went where. After all, I only destroyed _one_ Horcrux myself ... and that was Tom Riddle's old diary. All I know is that Slytherin's Locket contained Tom's original _eyes_. I quite like to amuse myself by thinking that Ravenclaw's Diadem had Tom's receding hairline and that the handle of Hufflepuff's Chalice was Tom's original nose!"

"Oh, Harry! Shut up!" Hermione laughed, falling against him as she giggled away. Harry grinned at her, thinking there was literally _nothing_ more perfect than everything she was doing right now. It made all the runes and symbols flicker gold at the same time. Even Neville quirked his eyes at them curiously.

Harry enjoyed the contact for as long as he dared, then slowly eased Hermione away from. "Patrick ... the basilisk venom, if you please."

O'Brien drew a vial from his cloak and tossed it to Harry, who caught it deftly. He then turned to Hermione. "You might want to stand back."

"I might ... but I _don't_ ," Hermione returned, firmly. "And I wont, either."

Harry shrugged at her unflinching stance, uncorked the vial of venom and poured it over the amulet as he placed it on the floor. It fizzled and hissed as the venom melted it. Two figures emerged from the pale smoke as it swirled into discernible shapes. They began to play out a scene before them. One was Tom Riddle, eyes red in his slits-for-sockets. His wand was drawn and aimed at a figure beaten to her knees before him. Her cheeks were slashed and split by multiple wounds. Hermione let out an anguished cry when she recognised the familiar face.

"Professor McGonagall!" she breathed dully.

The smoky image of the former Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress turned to consider them. The tracks of wispy blood cut runnels through her grimy skin. Her face pleaded for assistance. Harry was roiling with fury, Hermione could see it in his eye. But he was intently focused on pulling as much of the swirling magical energy to him as he could. He was giving off visceral waves of power, as if he were using the magic of the others to supercharge himself.

Voldemort was talking. Casting a complex spell with his wand and words. The Horcrux-McGonagall smiled an empty, dejected, hollow smile. She looked so beaten, she was almost welcoming the inevitable. And Voldemort obliged. His wand shot out a beam of thin light. It hit McGonagall in the throat and began to slice. It was jagged, rough and the smoky blood shooting from the severing cut was astonishing. The cry which issued forth from McGonagall's mouth was the sort of pained, terrified shriek that Hermione would never have thought her once-favourite teacher was capable of emitting. She was too strong for such a thing. Hermione flung her hands to her ears to block the sound, but the putrid sickness bubbling in her belly was harder to quell.

It was a protracted minute before the head was severed. It rolled over to Harry ... who had to jump back in order to avoid it. McGonagall's empty, desperate eyes looked up to him.

"Please ... help me, Mister Potter!" she begged.

And Harry's anger snapped like a clap of violent thunder. He cast three complicated runes into the air, cast them so fast Hermione did a double take. Then he infused each one with the combined power drawn from the Circle. The intensity was so great the energy made Hermione's hair stand on end, static-electric like. Then Harry sent the runes speeding towards the smoky form of Voldemort, who was moving towards them.

They trapped him as if in a cage, and Harry advanced furiously on him, wand drawn and drumming with his power. He pushed the runes tighter together, squeezing and compressing the prisoner within. Voldemort struggled uselessly against them. He was no match for Harry's rage, his powerful intent. Hermione felt it sweep over her time and again as Harry's magic pulsed around the Circle like an irrepressible storm. And she suddenly knew _exactly_ what Enola had meant before.

For in this state ... Harry was truly _terrifying_.

His power was unmatched. It was feral, wild ... yet at the same time completely under his command. This was a domain in which he dominated. Nothing could beat him here, and poor Tom Riddle was feeble opposition. Hermione felt that excitement stir again, the one she'd been hit with on that first night, when Lily the phoenix had rescued her from Malfoy. Harry in this mode was so powerful it was intoxicating. Neville hadn't _hoped_ Harry would beat Riddle ... he _knew_ he would, without question. He'd seen this side of Harry before, he knew of his ferocity.

But Hermione doubted that Neville knew how insanely _sexy_ this was. She wanted to tear Harry's clothes off and have him take her passionately right there on the altar, their audience be damned. There was something about his magic, an undertone she couldn't quite pinpoint. But it was pure _sex_. It made her instantly aroused and her knees went weak with the potency of it. She wondered if the other girls knew about this. They'd hinted at Harry's sexual prowess in the past, but Hermione wondered if they actually meant _this?_ Well, there was one thing for absolute sure.

She wouldn't share this with any of those bitches ever again. This was hers, she _owned_ it ... or, if she had her way, she very soon _would_.

Then there was a snap of energy and Harry angrily pushed the last of his collected magic at Voldemort. The runes closed together and the echo of the Dark Lord was crushed into a thousand wisps of smoke, which drifted harmlessly into the air. Harry sank to his knees, exhausted with the effort it would seem. The ghostly figure of Minerva McGonagall rose, head and all, from the smoke. She knelt down next to Harry and smiled.

"Thank you, Potter," she said, her voice distant and ethereal. "It feels wonderful to be free ... and _whole_ again. Thank you for saving my soul."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry stuttered raspily. "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough, wasn't strong enough, to save you. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Mister Potter," said McGonagall, gently. "You are too harsh on yourself. Love yourself a little or," she glanced warmly at Hermione, who had also crouched down at Harry's side, "let someone else do the loving for you, if you are unable. I have to go ... I am being ... _called_."

"Professor," said Harry quickly, his voice breaking. "Would you please, when you see her ... can you tell my mother I ... I love her?"

McGonagall smiled warmly. "She already knows that, Harry. Farewell."

And with that she, too, dissipated into the ether with a soft puff of light.

Harry draw his wand and commanded all of the remaining magic in the Chamber to flow into him. Hermione felt it go from her senses with a quick shock of discomfort, as though Harry had pulled out all her breath with a fishing line. And she felt immeasurably _colder_ for the loss. She didn't think she'd feel warm _again_ until Harry was back inside her ... but _that_ idea made her head spin wildly and she had to squeeze her thighs together to offset a sudden throbbing between them.

But that wasn't the only thing that was _sudden_ ... for Neville had raced forwards and leapt onto the raised dais with a sense of restless urgency.

"No! No, Harry ... what have you _done_?" he cried, anxiously.

Hermione pulled her mind out of the gutter and snapped her eyes to Neville. He was hunched over Harry, who had slumped to the ground without Hermione noticing. He was curled up in the foetal position, twitching unnaturally as marrow-deep groans erupted from his throat. Hermione was suddenly worried ... this obviously wasn't normal.

"Harry! Talk to me! Talk to me, brother!" Neville cried as he reached them. There was a trace of anger in his voice. He cradled Harry's head, as his eye rolled blankly into the back of his socket.

"Enn ... need Enn ... better ... hurry."

Harry's fractured voice might as well have been a Horcrux-creating spell, for the way Hermione felt it was splitting her soul. She'd never heard his tone so full of pain before ... and she decided she would be a happy woman if she went her entire life without ever hearing it like this again.

"Nev, what's happening?" asked Hermione desperately, her worry growing in the face of Neville's anxiousness.

"Harry's going into shock," said Neville, worriedly. He drew his wand and started casting healing spell after healing spell into Harry chest, trying to stabilise him. "Stay with me, brother. Dad! Help me! And for fuck's sake someone go and get my wife! _Now_!"

Patrick O'Brien had left the room before Neville had even finished issuing his orders. Hermione's heart was thudding in her chest, her fear paralysing her.

Frank ran over and immediately began pulling Harry's shawl up away from his mouth, as he was in danger of swallowing it. Hermione shot out a hand on instinct ... to stop Frank removing any more of the covering than he had to. She didn't think Harry would want that, no matter what was happening to him. The exposed part of his scar was pulsing with angry energy and had turned a deep shade of bruised purple. It had opened up and was dripping with pus and blood ... and it smelled truly _disgusting_. Hermione would have pinched her nose at the putrid stench, but she was now in full-on panic mode and barely noticed it.

"What's happening, son?" Frank asked in deep concern.

"I don't know," Neville muttered, still spell casting at an astonishing pace. "It's like he's been hit by a _truck_ at full speed. His body is _mangled_ ... and his energy seems to be fracturing. I - I can't explain it. What has _caused_ this? His body has been overloaded by whatever it is, but I don't know if he can take it. We need Enola. Right now. I don't think I hold him on my own."

"We wont ... _l-lose_ him ... will we?" Hermione mumbled. She couldn't even hold the wild notion steady in her frenzied mind.

"We _might_ , if Enola can't do something for him," said Neville, bluntly. "She's far better at this than me ... and she has a unique link to Harry that none of us share. She might be the only chance he has. I just don't understand how he's suddenly got all the hallmarks of a _magical abuse victim_."

Then his eyes rounded, and settled questioningly on, _Hermione_. She felt like he was hitting her with a Legilimency spell.

"Hermione ... how do you feel?" Neville asked, cautiously.

"I'm having a full on panic attack!" she cried back. "I can't breathe, my pulse is speeding so fast I might pass out, and I can't do anything to help! How do you bloody _think_ I feel?"

"I meant in your _body_?" Neville pushed. "Your aches and pains ... how are _they_?"

What a question to ask at such a time! Hermione was just about to say that the worry was making her agony ten times worse ... then she noticed that it simply _wasn't._ In fact, aside from her roiling worry for Harry, she felt like a million Galleons. She had not _one bit_ of pain ... _anywhere_. That throb at her hips was gone, the dull ache in her stomach was no longer there, and she felt light and lithe and zesty.

Neville had his answer in her expression.

"Oh, for _fuck's sake_ , Harry!" he yelled, furiously. "How was I so _stupid_ not to see what he was doing!?"

"See what?" asked Hermione, urgently.

Neville turned to her with a frown. "Harry has been keen to get you into a ritual as soon as he could, to try and help speed up your recovery and healing. But it takes months to prepare for something like that. It's a massively draining experience, not to mention the intimacy parts of it. You were not up for it physically. It could have set you back who knows how long in your recovery if any mistakes were made. Why did I not question it when he brought you here today? Damn it, Neville, you moron!"

"I'm still confused," said Hermione. "What has Harry done?"

"Harry has used this ritual to draw all of your physical wounds into _himself_ ," Neville explained. "In _one go_. Did you feel anything like that? As though something was pulled from you?"

Hermione thought for a moment, then she remembered. "Yes! I did! It hurt a little bit, but I thought that was just how a ritual ended. It's my first time being in one, so I don't know how it works."

Neville shook his head in frustration at Harry. "No, it isn't like that. Rituals only cause pain if they are _designed_ to. Harry must have known he'd have to cause you a little bit of discomfort, because all of your pain had to pass out of your body at the same time. So he got it over with as quickly as he could, to minimise it for you, probably overloaded you with euphoria just prior so it would act as a positive drag. Why didn't I notice it?"

Hermione blinked quickly as she tried to process that. "Harry must have blocked you out because he ... he made me think of something _sexual_. Hardly something he'd want _you_ to be part of, is it?"

"I suppose not," Neville huffed. "I just hope the thought worked for you."

"It did," Hermione blushed. "I barely felt a thing when Harry took my wounds. But I still don't really understand how he did it."

Neville considered her swarthily a moment. "To stop your suffering, Harry has pulled out all of your pain like it was a rotten tooth ... and channelled it into himself. The process is known as _T_ _ransference_ , and one of the ideas we've been working on is exactly what Harry has done ... only we wanted to transfer pain to our _enemies_ , not the other way around. The ritual was only in the theoretical stage ... or so I _thought_."

Hermione gasped aloud. "So ... what are you saying? Is it as if all the bad things that have happened to _me_ have now become _his_ wounds?"

"That's precisely what it is, especially the ones that are yet to heal ... both magically _and_ physically," Neville nodded, bitterly. "But you were obviously in a worse state than he knew ... or that he let on to _me_. I should have expected him to try something like this. If I'd known you were _this_ badly hurt, Hermione, I'd have never let you within a _hundred feet_ this ritual space. Enola will be _livid_ with me when she finds out how stupid I've been! She's done more than _anyone_ to bring Harry to his current level of health ... but now he might be right back to Square One. She's going to kill me for this."

"Nev, this isn't your fault," said Frank, supportively. "You didn't know, so you can't take the blame for Harry's reckless chivalry."

"You're wrong ... it _is_ my fault," Neville disagreed. "That's my role here, to stop Harry getting injured if I can. Ennie helps heal his old wounds, and I'm supposed to stop him getting new ones. But I've gotten so swept up in the great mood about the palace that I've stopped being diligent ... I've slacked off. And now look at him."

"Then this is my fault, too," Hermione whined, with a shock of horror. "If I'd never come here ..."

"- then Harry may have never experienced happiness ever again ... and that is all _sorts_ of wrong," said Neville firmly, cutting her off at a stroke. "You coming here is the _best_ thing to have happened to him ... and I know that he thinks that. Merlin, this is just so _typical_ of him! He has the _worst_ idea of what _'playing the hero_ ' means that I've ever seen! When he wakes up, I think _I_ might try and kill him, you know!"

The door to the Chamber was suddenly kicked open and Enola was actually _sprinting_ across the space to them.

"Everyone out, except for Nev and Hermione," she commanded forcefully, falling to her knees and pulling Harry's head into her lap. The others obeyed her without question, leaving the three of them alone with Harry. Enola rolled up her sleeves and her whitewood wand was in her hand in a flash, thrumming with her magic. She looked utterly determined. She passed her wand swiftly over Harry's body, up and down like a probe. She closed her eyes and incanted silently.

"His body is smashed," she breathed in assessment. "Broken bones, ruptured organs ... these were _your_ injuries, Min. I recognise them."

"Yes, I know," Hermione replied, pitifully. Her voice was tiny and she felt stupidly sorry for herself. Neville threw a consoling arm around her. She turned her head into his embrace and let herself cry on his shoulder.

"How?" Enola whispered in confused anxiety. "How has he done this?"

"I'll explain later," Neville replied. "Can you help him?"

"His body has gone into physical shock," Enola diagnosed. "But I'm more worried about the mental and magical impacts. They are far more serious. Five years of abuse ... absorbed in the space of a few seconds ... we aren't designed to cope with trauma like that."

"But you have _designed_ things to help Harry in the past," Neville muttered, cautiously. "Can you use them again now?"

Enola scowled up at him, darkly. "I'd rather _not_. We built that place to relieve Harry of his darknesses, not to _trap him_ there with them. You know a fair bit about Healing, honey ... you should realise the danger of reopening old wounds."

"What do you mean? I don't understand," Hermione frowned.

"I don't have the time to explain it fully to you now," Enola replied, gently. "It's private ... between Harry and I. He wouldn't be happy with me to go into too much detail about it without his consent ... even to _you_. Just know this, when I first came into Harry's life he was in so much pain, in _every_ way that you can imagine ... and he was heading towards a complete mental breakdown ... and incurable insanity. His body was broken by the effects of Dark Magic, and his mind had spent months in wherever that dimension was that he met Dumbledore. Harry _shouldn't_ have come back from there, Hermione. The mind isn't able to recover from the damage done by the journey, after so much time away.

"To save him, I had to do something no-one should _ever_ do ... I created intentional _crack_ _s_ in his mind ... vast plains, where he could compartmentalise all his own pain and suffering, to push them deep down and away from his consciousness on the surface. It's extraordinarily dangerous to even attempt it ... but it was the only choice we had left."

Hermione scowled as she considered the concept. "That ... that sounds an awful lot like creating _Horcruxes for the mind_!"

"That's because, essentially, it _is_ ," Enola replied, her voice low and guilty. "We had to build _seven levels_ into Harry's new mindscape, Hermione. That's how wounded he is inside. One day, we hope to make him strong enough to go back inside and deal with his problems for good. But I've been there, Hermione ... I _know_ how bad it is ... and returning to that place is a prospect that terrifies us _both_."

Hermione swallowed hard. "If it's so bad, why do you want to send him there now?"

"If I can guide Harry back into his Darkling Plain, he may be able to siphon off the wounds he's taken from _you_ ," Enola explained. "That's how we did it before. Then he can come back to the surface with enough energy to deal with the physical side of things. But it will be an ordeal for him."

"An ordeal? Why?" asked Hermione.

"Because, in that place, he has _nothing_ ," Enola explained, bluntly. "He has no power, no strength to fight. Even if he _did_ , it wouldn't matter ... because if he was strong enough to deal with the things he's trapped there, then the Plain wouldn't exist in the first place. He's confused and frightened when he's down there ... and weak. He'll need my help to have any chance of getting through it."

"Then take me, too," Hermione demanded. "I can come with you."

"No," Enola replied with a sense of finality. She looked to Neville for support against Hermione's seething expression. "Neither of you can come. Harry would _never_ want you to see him in that vulnerable state ... and he'd never forgive me if I showed it to you without his permission."

"But _you_ are allowed to see?" asked Hermione, unable to keep the bitter jealousy from her tone.

Enola read her inference clearly. She sighed. "Remember what I told you? Harry and I are not, and have never been, _romantic_. But this thing between us is deeply personal. Maybe, one day, he'll take you there himself ... but for now, I'm all he has."

"Then help him" said Neville. "Just be careful. We'll be waiting for you when you come out."

Then Enola took a steadying breath, pulled a strand of light from her temple and pressed it firmly to Harry's. Then she immediately passed out beside him.


	10. A Darkling Plain

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry felt like he was drowning, like death was only a second away ... and then, quite suddenly, he started to _feel_ again.

His throat was filled with something viscous, gelatinous ... it was blocking the airways of a throat already swollen virtually shut. He coughed and slapped the back of his neck, but the restriction wouldn't budge. He wondered in panic what would happen to all his love, all his dreams, if he fell down and died here? He didn't want to lose any of them ... but he couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough air through to his damaged lungs. His throat hurt so much, like he'd received a lancing blow to the trachea.

He just couldn't remember how he got here.

Harry wasn't even sure where _here_ was. He blinked and looked around. He was cold ... so very, very cold ... he knew that much. There was a blackness in his veins, pushing through him like frozen fire. It was icy, sharp ... he shivered as it flowed underneath his thin skin. For he _felt_ thin, stretched somehow ... as if his body had forgotten how to hold in heat. He tried to hug into himself for warmth, but there was none to be had. The cold pressed tighter on his lungs, heavy and leaden, as he spluttered for that breath that refused to come.

There was a flash of light to Harry’s left, and with it came a dash of warmth and cogency … and Harry began to understand where he was. Not that this new knowledge was _welcome_. How in the hell had he gotten himself _here_? He closed his eye and tried hard to remember … he’d been in the Ritual Chamber, then there was a _lot_ of pain and then …

“Enola! You did this! _You_ sent me here!”

Harry fronted up to that vortex of light, as it swirled and dimmed and formed itself into the familiar shape of Neville’s wife. She strode purposefully over to him and took in their surroundings.

“I didn’t send you _here,_ Harry,” Enola disagreed. “I don’t even know where _here_ is! What is this place, I don’t recognise it?”

Harry looked around again, realisation flooding him now that he was enveloped by Enola’s strength. “This is my mindscape, or at least, the transit point at the very top of it.”

“A _transit_ point?” Enola queried. “We didn’t create anything like this, Harry. What even is it?”

“The more my mind has been able to heal, the more my subconscious has begun to assert itself again,” Harry explained, flicking his eye around curiously. “The lower levels of my mind were so damaged I didn’t _want_ a subconscious, for the longest time. But your help has encouraged its regrowth. And this is the result.”

“So where are we?”

“Think of it as a reception area,” Harry replied. “My mind is now beginning to reach a level of strength and sophistication where it recognises the need to protect me again. This is a sort of sentry station … guarding the entrance to _them_.”

Harry nodded to a point over Enola’s shoulder, and she turned to look at it. There, stood stark against the milky whiteness elsewhere, seven dark tunnels loomed ominous and foreboding. Enola shuddered as she remembered the horrors lurking along each one.

“Your _plains?_ Under a sort of _control_ now? 

Harry sighed and closed his eye. “Yeah. All of them, exactly how I visualise the way to reach them now. What I cant understand, though, is what I’m doing here in the first place.”

“You don’t remember?” Enola asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“I remember being in my Ritual Room,” Harry told her. “Then something hit me, I passed out from the pain, then you showed up and came into my mind. What was I doing?”

“You were facing a Horcrux,” Enola reminded him. “I assume you destroyed it, because that was all over by the time I got there. But you were in a state of physical shock. You’d done something very stupid … not to mention very _sneaky._ You tapped into Hermione’s energies and -”

“- stole all her pains!” Harry filled in slyly. “Yes, I remember now. No wonder I hurt so much.”

“Harry Potter! How could you!?” Enola admonished. “I don’t need to tell you how _idiotic_ a thing that was to do? You could have _killed_ yourself! In fact, you could have killed _her!_ ”

Harry shook his head. “I knew what I was doing.”

“Clearly _not!_ ” Enola argued, vehemently. “Or else we wouldn’t be _here_. What I don’t understand, though, is _why_ you came to this particular place … this wasn’t where I intended to send you.”

“I think I understand,” Harry mused. He began strolling around as he thought. “This place is fairly new … you wouldn’t have known about it. You tried to send me to my Pain Plain, yes?”

“That was the plan,” Enola confirmed. “I didn’t _want_ to, but Nev suggested it ... and I couldn’t come up with a better idea on the spot. Hermione was going crazy with worry next to me, see, and I couldn’t think clearly with her in such a frenzy.”

Harry frowned at her. “You didn’t _tell_ Hermione about this place, did you?”

“Not everything, but I had to tell her _something_ ,” Enola confessed, sheepishly. “You know how stubborn she can be. She wanted to come with me … but I didn’t give her a chance to argue her case.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose,” Harry huffed. “I’d just have rather her not known about this place at all.”

“This isn’t something you could have kept from her for very long, Harry,” Enola pointed out. “It’s too fundamental to who you are these days. She’d have found out one way or another.”

Harry sighed in agreement. “I suppose you’re right. I just wish it hadn’t happened so soon.”

“Perhaps it’s easier to just get it over with,” Enola replied, sniffily. “So, what can you tell me about this new place? Why are we here, and not dragging you away from one of your nightmares?”

“Ever since my brain reached a certain level of healing, my mind has started to take a sort of control down here,” Harry began. “Anything new I need to siphon off, my higher brain function does it for me, without my conscious involvement. It doesn’t make it any _easier,_ but it takes a load off.”

“Ahh, I think I see,” Enola nodded in understanding. “So because I sent you here carrying _Hermione’s_ problems …”

“... it didn’t know quite where to put me,” Harry completed for her. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with how _I_ view her problems, let alone face them as if I _was_ her.”

Enola nodded in consoling sympathy. “You have to start by doing the utmost hardest thing … forgiving _yourself_. Even Hermione knows _that_.”

“And I still can’t do that most basic part … I still own a huge share of that blame.”

“Despite all of the things that Hermione said to you?” Enola asked. “She told me all about her meeting with you. In fact, we’ve talked about little _else_.”

“Yes, I can well believe that!” Harry quipped with a wry frown. “You _told_ her about the birthday party, didn’t you?”

Enola turned her eyes down guiltily. “I thought she might want to know … and I was _right!”_

Harry chuckled. “Yes, so it seems. And that’s the only reason I’m not angry with you!”

“But it’s still not enough for you to let this go? You know, I honestly thought it would be. But, silly me, I forgot about how entrenched your martyr-complex is. You know, we should put _that_ into one of these mind plains, really.”

Harry closed his eye and shook his head. “I’m still at fault, Enn, no matter what you try to say. Hermione told me I didn’t do anything … but that merely emphasises the fact that I _didn’t do anything!_ I left her there to suffer.

"I should have gone for her as soon as I could … there’s no reason for me to have not to. I could have saved her from all those horrors before they had a chance to happen. Hell, I could even have saved Ron into the bargain _…_ gotten to him before he turned to darkness. He always was weak-minded, vulnerable, easy prey to the seductive pull of power.

“The more I think about it ... the more I realise I failed _him_ , too.”

Enola stepped close. “You cant blame yourself for the problems of the entire world, Harry. And you had perfectly legitimate reasons for not going for Hermione sooner. You _couldn’t_ protect her then, you weren’t ready. Not just with your magic, but with _yourself_. You were volatile, unstable ... _Harry_ ... you were _dangerous!_ You think you’re a mess now … but I don’t need to remind you of what you were like _then_ , do I?”

“No, I was a wreck,” Harry agreed.

“See? So you knew this was no place for Hermione back then. And you thought she was _safe_ enough where she was, that Weasley would take care of her. You had no reason to think anything else.”

“But as soon as I knew different _…”_

 _“_ You began plans to rescue her, but it took a long time to get ready for that,” Enola cut across. “Harry … you’ve done your best. You’re very good, but nobody’s perfect … not even you. We are allowed to make mistakes in life, Harry … but we’re also allowed to forgive ourselves once we’ve atoned.”

“Who told you that rubbish like that?” Harry scoffed.

Enola blinked plainly at him. “ _You_ did.”

Harry and Enola shared a look of understanding, but didn’t speak on the point.

Enola cleared her throat. “So … if your mind doesn’t know where to put you, it must be down to us to decide.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “The problem is, where to go?”

He walked over to the seven tunnels, Enola following behind. “Do I go into Pain and siphon _there_ , or is this a regret over Hermione, so better suited in that plain?”

“Or, is it a _Weasley_ problem, and should be dumped in with the issues you have with that family?” Enola mused.

They studied the portals in silent contemplation a moment. Harry couldn’t move to make a decision. Every single one paralysed him in the same way, and for the same reason.

“I don’t know if I can do _any_ of this, Enn,” Harry mumbled. “I don’t think I can face it. I _know_ what happened to Hermione … and I can feel the residual effects of her wounds in my own body … but I don’t know if there’s any way that I can _watch_ ... and finally learn how she got them. I can’t make that journey ... I'd never recover from it.”

“No-one ever said that this would be an easy process, and I’m sure you knew what you were taking on when you stole her injuries,” Enola sympathised. “How _did_ you do that, anyway?”

“I had to connect with her as part of the Induction Rite,” Harry explained. “She will join the Circle for good one day. But I didn’t go too deep with her … she wouldn’t have been able to handle it. But I went far enough to feel her physical wounds … and they made me sick to my stomach.

“So there was _no way_ I was leaving that room without removing them … one way or another. And that’s what has flagged up _another_ problem for us.”

“Another problem?” Enola asked, exasperated. “How many has she had to cope with?”

Harry frowned as he thought the exact same thing. “You’re a Healer, Enola … and a highly-skilled one at that. You and your mother taught me everything I know, and I learned more. But it cant have escaped you attention that Hermione’s injuries haven’t been healing anything _like_ as quickly as they should be.”

“I did notice that,” Enola confessed. “But I assumed that she’s just been broken, then _re-broken,_ without being allowed to heal, and we are just seeing the older injuries come to the surface. That’s what's happening with that Susan girl.”

“Perhaps, but this is different,” Harry went on. “We have Potions that can re-grow bones, that can repair damaged organs … you and I both know spells that can encourage rapid tissue regeneration to remove bruising. But none of them have made more than a superficial dent on Hermione's wounds.

“When I was younger, I lost all the bones in my arm due to the inept magic of an even more inept teacher at Hogwarts. One beaker of Skele-Gro was all it took for me, as well as a Targeting Spell, and twenty-four hours later my bones had returned. It was an _excruciating_ twenty-four hours, don’t get me wrong, but still just a day. A day after _that_ , and aside from being stiff and sore … as well as having a sort of prickly heat feeling where my muscles were resealing over the new bone structure … I was _fine_.

“But Hermione has remained in agony, despite our best efforts. And now I have a better idea of _why_. There’s something else here, Enn, I can feel it. Something that is actively fighting against us.”

Enola turned angrily to Harry. “What are you saying? That there’s an enchantment there that is _resistant_ to Healing?”

“That’s what it feels like.”

Enola swore bitterly. “Well we can guess _who_ would do that … but why? Hurting Hermione is one thing, but to stop her from healing … what would he gain from that?”

“Simple,” Harry seethed. “Complete control. If she couldn’t heal, she couldn’t _escape_. And if she didn’t have the will to escape, she’d lose all will for resistance, too. It’s about utter dominance, pure and simple. You must have sensed how powerful Hermione is ... despite all that she's endured, she still carries around a ridiculous level of magical potency. Even _I'_ _m_ amazed by it ... but I genuinely think she's forgotten her own strength."

"Or been _made_ to forget," Enola riled. "Poor girl ... it's as if she's been _robbed_ , not of the power she wields, but the very _knowledge_ that she even has it!" 

"Exactly what I think ... and Hermione's most dangerous weapon always was her knowledge, her beautiful brain," Harry agreed, ruefully. "And they tried to take that away from her, by targeting her body. These are like _delayed-reaction_ injuries, Enola … painful on impact, but the effects dragged out until they run their full course, and allowing _newer_ wounds on top as a result. Perversely, when we took the Restriction Enchantments away, we may have inadvertently made things _worse_ in the short-term.”

“Oh Heaven forbid!” Enola cried. “Poor Hermione! Explain this to me, Harry, because I have to know ... how were you _ever_ friends with the prick who did this to her?”

“He wasn’t a prick then,” Harry replied, fairly. “Well, not at least as big a one as he is now. But he had laid the foundations, I realised that a long time ago. Which brings me to my most _pressing_ concern.”

“Which is?”

Harry turned to face Enola fully. “Whatever has been done to Hermione, this level of magic is _beyond_ the skill capabilities of Ronald Weasley. He is the very _definition_ of mediocre. He has neither the talent nor the creativity to come up with this on his own … but he has surrounded himself with people who do ... and _none_ of them would use magic like this for anything good.”

“What are you saying?” Enola pressed, urgently.

“I’m saying there’s something we’ve missed, some element we have overlooked ... perhaps a sort of magic we haven't come across before,” Harry replied, darkly. “We haven’t gotten anywhere _near_ the bottom of Hermione’s problems yet … and I’m terrified of what we’ll find when we _do_.”

“Harry … we _have_ to look at what happened to her,” Enola told him, gently. “If we hope to help Hermione in the future, we _have_ to look at her past … it’s the only way to help her, the only way to save her.”

“I _cant,_ Enola!” Harry whined. “I can’t watch those things happening to her. I’ll _never_ forgive myself for them if I do. I can do anything else, but not this … I can’t, Enn … please don’t make me … I just _can’t_ …”

Neville’s wife looked stoutly at Harry. “Then let _me_.”

Harry blinked his eye several times. “What?”

“You cant face it, but we _need_ to know what we’re dealing with,” Enola persisted, firmly. “Your mind is stretched to breaking point, Harry, you can't cope with that sort of trauma ... but _I_ can. You’re going to have to give me Hermione’s injuries Harry … _all of them_.”

“No, I wont do that, the wounds are too extreme,” Harry shook his head. “And you’re not exactly _undamaged_ yourself.”

“I know that, but I can handle it,” Enola volleyed back. “If you _truly_ want to help Hermione, you know this is the best way.”

Harry stared at her. “Why would you do this? You barely know the girl.”

“I know all I need to,” Enola smiled back. “She’s bright and fierce and lovely, and if I knew nothing else about her that would be enough. But she also makes _you_ laugh and smile … and that is _queenly,_ too. It might even be _divine._ I didn’t think you could become a better person than you are, Harry ... but Hermione lifts you to a whole new level. It’s incredible, really.

“And it gives us all _hope_ … _real hope_ … that we can win this fight and have a brighter future after it. And it shows me the _real_ you … the one I wish we could see every day … the best Brother-by-Blood-in-law, the best Godfather for my little girl, that I could ever have asked for.

“And it’s _Hermione_ who’s the one that's going to get you there. We’re all in this together, and if I have to take a share of her misery then so be it. I don’t think you can do this without her … so this is me doing my part to make sure you _can_.”

Harry literally didn’t know what he was supposed to say to her for this sacrfice she was offering to make. So he just smiled at Enola as best and warmly as he was able ... which wasn't much on the surface. She knew that, and smiled back brightly enough for the both of them.

“Are you sure? Absolutely sure?” Harry checked one last time. “This wont be easy for you.”

“I know what I’m getting myself into,” Enola returned, staunchly. “I got a first-hand look at Hermione’s wounds before you did. I know how she suffered. I’m ready to take that into myself.”

“I don’t know how to say a good enough thank you,” Harry confessed. “But what are we going to tell Neville? He wont understand … and he’ll be _very_ angry with me for allowing this.”

“No, he wont understand, but I’ll handle my husband, don’t you worry,” Enola replied, brightly.

“What will you tell him? The truth?” Harry asked in a low breath.

“No, not the truth … not yet,” Enola muttered. “But I’ll think of something. To be honest, though, I think it’s _Hermione_ we need to be more wary of. She doesn’t trust me enough quite yet … if anyone is likely to _misunderstand_ , it’s her. And she has a feistiness that I both love and fear!”

Harry chuckled at that. “Yes, she does. I’ve missed that about her.”

“Come on, Harry! You’ve missed _everything_ about her!”

“Yes … that’s true, too,” Harry confessed with a grin. “I’ve tried to tell Hermione that she has absolutely no need to be jealous, but … she seems determined …”

“Harry … have you _seen_ my tits? Even _I_ envy my _mirror_ , when my reflection borrows them for a bit!”

Harry laughed deeply. “I’ve never looked, as you well know.”

“If you were any other man, I’d call you a liar,” Enola quirked with a grin. “But I happen to believe every word. Say what you like about your broken mind, Harry, but it’s given you more mental discipline than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“And I’ll need it now,” Harry sighed, grimly. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I’m not for turning, Harry,” Enola replied with a firm stare.

“Okay. Open up the link to your mind,” Harry instructed. “It’ll be easier to do this there.”

Enola nodded and opened a portal from Harry’s mind to her own. She turned to him before they made their way through it.

“Just do one thing for me, Harry … get Neville and Ally far away before you bring me round … I don’t want them to hear me screaming when I wake up …” 

* * *

Hermione jerked awake abruptly, grimacing as Crookshanks stabbed his claws into her thigh, where he was padding around in her lap and trying to find a comfy spot. She quickly brushed the cobwebs from her head and checked on Harry ... but he was still the same. Motionless, as close to _lifeless_ as Hermione had ever seen anyone ... and just as unresponsive as he'd been since they'd brought him up here from his Ritual Chamber.

And _that_ had been over twelve hours ago.

There was a medical suite on the First Floor of the palace, an infirmary of sorts, and it was here that Hermione sat watch, one hand gripped tightly in Harry's own, while the other pulled on her hair to offset random bursts of restless anxiety, that were liable to erupt from her chest at any moment. She hadn't left his side since he and Enola had been moved here, not that Harry had any way of knowing that ... Lord Voldemort himself could have strode into the palace, with a Get Well card and a bunch of grapes, and Harry would have been none the wiser.

He was simply that far away from this reality.

His bed didn't look the most comfortable either, built for function over pleasure, causing Hermione to frown at the idea of these earthly discomforts adding to his other woes. She thought about transfiguring the bed into something more bouncy, but in the end she had to content herself with merely fluffing his pillows. It was all she could do ... and she was just frantic to do _anything_ that might help.

After all, Harry had enough to deal with trying to free himself from his nightmare mindscape.

Hermione had tried hard to conceptualise that, on those rare occasions that she wasn't simply consumed with worry over him. A mind with _seven levels_ ... what the hell did that _mean?_ She struggled to even _define_ it, let alone picture what it might look like. She only had _one_ plain in her own mind, but she still didn't know how she might describe _that_ ... so to imagine Harry with _seven_ , all filled with his internal darknesses, was something that was, frankly, beyond her powers of comprehension.

But for all the things she couldn't _see_ , Hermione still knew that Harry must be suffering, wherever he was in there. He looked pained, troubled. Hermione could tell that in the crinkle of his one remaining eyelid, the tight pinch of his brow. She didn't want to think of him as _frightened_ , despite appearances. He had become such a blinding anchor of strength for her, in such a short space of time, that she was starting to think of him as borderline invincible. The idea of him having any sort of vulnerability was basically absurd in her new vision of him.

But his hands shivered, and told her a very different story ... in the way his skin crept, and darted from balmy hot to the very, very cold. He was so in need, wherever he was. Hermione was mindless to help, but she might as well have been a million miles away, rather than sat in this chair clutching Harry's trembling fingers between her own, for all the use she felt to him. All she could do was smooth his skin and whisper gently to him, unsure if he could hear her or not, unsure if it was doing any good.

She knew of no better way to help.

Hermione covered Harry's scars with his shawl to protect his modesty, that was something she could achieve. He was was being exposed to all sorts of horrors on the inside, so the least she could do was protect the evidence of his wounds on the outside. Every now and then she would splay a hand across his chest, to feel his heartbeat, to reaffirm that he was still living. It brought all her own senses into shocking focus, to feel him so viscerally alive beneath her touch, sending a heat rushing up from within her own chest and coating her in the deepest flush.

Next to Hermione, Neville was as motionless as Harry at Enola's side. _She_ looked determined, purposeful, even in her deep sleep. But Neville was pale with worry, his head bowed and lips pressed firmly to his wife's hands, which he clasped firmly between his own. Hermione's heart bled for him, she ached from her worry for him. It was the first time she'd seen the new, strong him break down like this.

And his love for Enola screamed out at her, shaming her for her earlier jealous outburst. The tender way Neville brushed stray hairs from his wife's forehead, the way he hushed quietly to her when she spasmed, the desperation in his eyes that she had gone into danger somewhere that he couldn't follow ... all the tell-tale marks of a love so strong it should never be doubted, too pure to be threatened by the risks facing it now ...worth must more than Hermione's bout of petty self-absorption.

But she still felt a sense of responsibility for it all. She closed her eyes and concentrated on Harry. Her stretched heart didn't have room for all this emotion, not when she had spent so many years blocking it off. Harry became her focus; if she could somehow help him, all would be well. But she felt useless, impotent. Like Neville with Enola, she felt Harry had gone to a place that she couldn't reach, somewhere beyond her ability to render aid.

And the irrational part of her brain was honestly terrified of that. It made her believe that Harry could only ever be truly safe when he was with her. When he was out of her sight, she couldn't protect him. Like that night five years ago in the Forbidden Forest. He had gone into the most gravest of dangers alone ... without _her_ for guidance and counsel and support. Hermione hadn't been there to defend him from Voldemort. Or from Dumbledore, or from _himself_ , as she so unshirkingly had in the past _._ If she had been, maybe none of this would have happened.

But there was good and bad with that. Maybe Harry would never have confronted these suppressed feelings for her, would never have come to see her as the beautiful, incredible, most important person in his life that she was now certain she was. The ritual had told her all of that ... and so much more besides, as astounding as all of it was. She blushed at the thought. She was sure she didn't deserve it, wasn't worthy of a love so strong. But she knew she had it, nonetheless. Harry loved her so much that it was breathtaking.

And she gripped his hand tightly, prayed to Merlin and every God she could think of, and begged Harry to come back and _tell_ her like he promised he would. Not that she could imagine how he ever would. Words just weren't his way anymore, not that they had _ever_ really been. Maybe it would fall to _her_ to do the telling for them both, just as soon as she could finally accept her own feelings once and for all.

For she was almost certain that she knew how she felt now, that this emotion had a familiar name. Her reaction to Harry being in such peril had brought that slamming home to her. She had been resisting it, unreasonably thinking that it couldn't happen so fast. This wasn't some soppy romance novel, after all. But then, she accepted, this _wasn't_ fast. This hadn't all come on in the space of a couple of weeks, since she'd been rescued. It wasn't the new ideas of Harry that had stirred these passions in her, the ones that threatened to make him into an addiction.

This had _always_ been there, for as long as she could remember ... and was as much a part of her being as her bushy hair and bookworm ways. Harry Potter was just that integral to Hermione's Granger's world.

It had been born when she was just a girl, when it was new and raw and so powerful that she pushed away from him during their sixth school year, because she was so fundamentally afraid of it. The strength of her own feelings for Harry had rattled her so much that she consciously put distance between them, rather than face it head-on. She had nearly been killed in defence of him the year before. That was frightening enough.

That she would have done it _again,_ without even a second thought, totally shattered her world.

She was too clever not to know what that meant. She'd kept that self-conversation at arms length since their Third Year, when Harry had first opened up to her about his desire for a family, one cruelly snatched away from him by being denied the chance to live with his Godfather. She was the first person he'd let that close to him. They'd crossed a boundary together without even flinching at the border, never stopping to consider the voyage beyond. That meant something important for them both, but Hermione was too young to really understand it, or how deep it went.

But now, consumed with worry at his infirmary bedside, she finally accepted, on an emotionally conscious level, all she'd once cautiously skirted where Harry was concerned. He had done it for her, years ago, if she believed the elves and the witches of the house. She couldn't wrap her mind around how he came to that conclusion, but she was deeply fascinated by the scenario. One day, she would make him tell her all about it. It might become her favourite bedtime story ... when they were tucked up in bed, together, hopelessly and endlessly tangled together.

So Harry had to come back to her. Even Voldemort wouldn't be cruel enough to deny her ... now she knew just what Harry coming back would mean. For her, for _them_ , for the world. And for any stupid twats retarded enough to dare pose a threat to them. Hermione wouldn't abide them. If Harry was dangerous when riled, then Hermione was going to be positively _lethal_ when crossed, and nothing made her crosser than people who threatened Harry.

Neville's words rang with truth in her ears, as Hermione clutched firmly still at Harry's twitching fingers. Tom Riddle _really_ didn't know the horrors that were coming for him.

* * *

The dawn sun was rising when Hermione woke again. The infirmary was filled with a dusky sort of twilight and it took few moments for Hermione to adjust to the hue.

Or to the fact that she was laying down in bed … the very bed _vacated_ by Harry.

“Harry! You’re awake!”

Hermione had screeched, she couldn’t help it. She leapt up in her zeal, marvelled that she was able to do this without pain now, then _ran_ the length of the infirmary, to where Harry was reading the medical chart on Sue Bones’ bed. He looked up just in time as Hermione reached him.

Which was a good thing, too … as her clobbering hug might have knocked him flat if he hadn’t been prepared for her.

“Now I’ve not had one of _these_ in years!” Harry breathed happily into Hermione’s hair. “There really is nothing quite so all-consuming as a _Hermione Granger Hug!”_

“Harry! You’re awake! You’re alive!” Hermione sang. “What happened in your mind? Are you okay? Answer the second question first!”

Harry chuckled and eased free of Hermione’s snug embrace. He didn’t want to, and he hoped he’d get a chance to go back there again … but perhaps this wasn’t the right time to ask.

“I will tell you everything, I promise,” Harry replied. “But I have something I need to do. It involves you … and I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I can explain, because I’m reasonably confident you wont like it.”

“Why, what’s going on? What’s happened?”

“Sit down,” Harry beckoned, pulling out a chair for her before sitting himself on the window ledge. “I took your pains during the Induction Ritual, all of them … mental, physical and emotional. Don’t ask me to apologise … I wont _ever_ apologise for trying to make you feel better. No matter the cost to me, or anyone else for that matter.”

Hermione smiled, prettily shy. Harry couldn’t even look right in her eyes they were shining so bright.

“Can I at least say _‘thank you’?_ ” Hermione asked, softly. “Will you accept my thanks, if you wont let me tell you off? You know I quite _like_ doing that, Harry!”

He laughed lightly at her again. “Fine. I’ll allow that.”

“Good. Well, thank you … I feel great, for the first time in years! _Thank you_ hardly seems a strong enough way of expressing my gratitude for what you did.”

“No, I agree,” Harry grinned. “But just seeing you look happier, and being able to watch you move around with more freedom, is more powerful than any words could ever express. Stay this way _forever_ and I’ll consider myself thanked.”

“I’ll do my best!” Hermione smiled. “But what about you? You have enough pain of your own to deal with … how in the hell are you dealing with mine, too?”

“That’s just the thing … exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” Harry began. “The truth is … I’m _not_.”

“But … you took my wounds. They’re gone, I don’t feel them anymore.”

Harry slipped from the window sill and grabbed another chair. He sighed deeply as he sat as close to Hermione as he thought she’d allow … which was at least three times further _awa_ y than she wanted him … though perhaps it was a tad _early_ for him to be sitting in her lap!

“This is what happened,” Harry went on. “I took your hurt during the Ritual. As soon as I felt it, I decided then and there that you weren’t leaving that Chamber with even a drop of it left. I swear to you that I didn’t plan it beforehand … it would have been far too dangerous, given your state of damage. But I changed my mind when I saw how deep your pain went. Again, zero apologies given … I was confident I could get in and out with only minimal discomfort to _you._

“Then the plan was for me to go into meditation, siphon everything off that I could. Enola told me that she’d mentioned my little _mental workaround_ to you _…_ don’t ask me to explain that right now, either. I will one day, you have my word, but not today.

“But then I ran into a problem. I had your wounds … but I couldn’t _fix_ them as I’d hoped to.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked. “Did Ron even curse my _wounds_?”

“Actually … _yes!_ Good god that was a great guess!”

“What!? What does that mean?” Hermione demanded. “And no joking about. What did he do?”

Harry shifted awkwardly in his seat. “In all honesty, Hermione, I’m not sure that Ron is wholly responsible for this _particular_ violation. Something _was_ done to you … but I think it’s far beyond Ron’s skill.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Tell me, Harry.”

“There was an Enchantment placed on you … one that resisted the very _act_ of healing,” Harry explained, slowly. “Any injury you received would have healed about _twelve_ _times_ slower than it should have, even if magical aids were employed.”

“That … _ginger prick!”_ Hermione riled, her eyes flashing angrily.

Harry laughed. “That’s my girl … we’ll upgrade you to better swear words in due course!”

“Harry, I _swear_ one thing … I’ve never been this _incensed_!” Hermione shot back. “I once joked to Sue that Blaise never allowed her to heal before breaking her body again … and to think that Ron was doing the exact same thing to me without my knowing! What a cruel irony!”

Harry growled in his anger. “I don’t think _joking_ about what these bastards did to you is how _I’d_ deal with it.”

“It was all we had at the time,” Hermione offered, placatingly. “But we’ll visit pain back on them in due course. So, what _has_ happened to my injuries … because if you’re not suffering with them, then who _is_?”

Harry drew in a heaving breath … and flicked his eye to Enola, still in the bed at the other end of the ward.

“Oh, _no_ , Harry!” Hermione hissed lowly. “You _didn’t!_ How could you!? You must have known how badly she was going to suffer?”

“I had no choice … besides, Ennie can be _very_ persuasive,” Harry offered apologetically. “I would have done literally _anything_ else, believe me, but I just couldn’t do _that_ … I simply couldn’t bear to watch Ron laying his hands and fists on you … his oppressive magic, too … my mind would have fractured if I had.”

Hermione had a further admonishment ready to throw at him … but it faded in her throat. She dragged her chair a little closer to Harry, so that he was only _two_ times too far away from her. Semi-terrified, she reached out with trembling hands and squeezed his strong fingers.

“I couldn’t have either … if it was you,” Hermione whispered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. But what are we going to do? We cant allow Enola to take those wounds … no-one should have to suffer them.”

“I know, but we have a bigger problem,” Harry confessed. “I don’t think that she _can_ … at least, not all of them.”

“Explain,” Hermione encouraged.

“This particular type of brutality is positively sadistic,” Harry explained, murderously. “And deeply _personal_. From what we were able to tell, by examining the origin of the curse, Ron somehow used your actual _Marriage Bond_ to set the Enchantment. It’s probably why you didn’t notice it … I imagine you blocked the feeling of it out?”

“As much of it as I could,” Hermione confirmed. “It was like having Troll’s Piss for blood!”

“I bet it was,” Harry griped. “But the Bond, as you know, is an actual _spell._ It tethers spouses together, and other magic can be passed along it, if you choose to use it like that. Emotions, too, you know. You … er … might have felt a similar type of thing during the Induction Ritual. Sorry if that overwhelmed you … I didn’t mean to hold on that long … it should have been over in less than a _second_ … but I just, er, got carried away.”

Hermione beamed brilliantly at him. “You are welcome to get _carried away_ like that any time you want! You wont find _this_ witch objecting!”

“It, um, actually gets stronger … to tell the truth … a _lot_ stronger,” Harry confessed, almost ashamedly. “If you had ever seen a _proper_ Matrimonial Bond cast … well, it’s something else.”

Hermione _actually_ swooned at the effect Harry’s reverent tone was suggesting … it left her senselessly hot. “Is that the kind of thing Neville and Enola have? Is that what you cast for _them?_ ”

Harry nodded with a shy turn of his eye. “Yeah. You’ll have to ask around about what the Wedding Night was like here. Let’s just say, it was the only time in recorded history that Wales has seen a heatwave in _November_!”

“Wow!” Hermione breathed, her eyes popping at the notion. “So … you _know_ this Enchantment, then? You could teach someone else how to perform it if … if you needed to?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing,” Hermione flipped back, evasively. “Just tallying up your new magical skills, that’s all. You never know when I might _need_ one or two of them!”

Hermione’s eyes shone brilliantly, her meaning clear even for someone as dense as Harry Potter. But if she expected him to know how to respond to a suggestion like that, then Hermione had forgotten more about Harry than she’d let on.

“So, what did Ron do with our Bond, how did he manipulate it?” Hermione pressed on, trying to still her racing heart at the passionate look in Harry’s eye.

And his expression darkened like a sudden storm. “He used it to slip an Enchantment into you, which meant that if a certain type of curse was used on you, the effect would last _forever_. And, because it was cast along your Bond, only _he_ could remove it.”

Hermione gasped in angry shock. “ _What? …_ What does that mean, Harry?”

“In all honesty, I don’t really know,” Harry confessed. “Not fully, anyway. There’s an Enchantment acting on you that I’ve never seen before. I don’t even know what it _does_ … only that it is uniquely configured to your energy, your very life force. Ron cast the curse on you, the one to stop you healing properly … but this other thing is _far_ more serious …

“For if it gets _broken_ … I think you’ll _die_.”

Hermione fell still in her chair, shivering with the enormity of Harry’s declaration. But he wasn’t finished.

“And that’s the problem we have right now,” he went on. “Because the curse is uniquely designed to _you_ , if your energy doesn’t renew it, it will trigger a defensive response … and overload a new host. In short, if we wake Enola up, we will be signing her _death sentence_.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Hermione asked breathily, as her skin paled in the morning sunlight. “Asking Ennie to hurt for me is one thing … but there’s no way you can ask her to _die_ for me!”

“Of course not,” Harry replied, simply. “We only have _one_ option … and I hate it with every inch of my being. But it’s the only way.”

“What is it? I’m ready,” Hermione declared, stoutly.

“I’m going to have to ask you to do something very brave … and take your magical injuries _back,”_ Harry confessed. “Ennie is a bull of a girl … she can deal with your physical aches and pains cheerily enough. But the magical ones were _designed for you,_ and I’m worried about what might happen if we wake her with them … and I’m not just talking about this strange, outside one.

“Ron can’t hurt your body anymore, but he’ll be able to feel where he’s sending any negative magic ... and if he feels it isn’t hitting _you_ , then he'll know we've removed the Enchantment from you. Then, whoever it is that has cast this more vicious spell on you, might be able to use it to hurt you … or _worse_. I just don’t know.

“This is all guesswork, really, but I’m reasonably sure that what we need to do is convince _them_ that they still have magical influence over you. It will buy us some time to study the Enchantment in more depth … and I swear I‘ll find a way to remove it from you safely. But for now, I need to ask you to do this. I’m sorry … if there was another way …”

Harry looked away from her, scowling as though he were hating himself ... and planning to _punish_ himself later, for what he was forcing himself to ask her now. Hermione squeezed his hand tighter, as though trying to channel all her positive energy into him.

“There isn’t another choice, Harry … but it’s _okay_ ,” Hermione smiled, doughtily. “Without my physical wounds, I’ll be a hundred times better than I was. I will be able to _think_ again, hopefully even _help_ to understand the magical assaults on me. And then we’ll find a solution together … and dream up an equally vicious revenge. I’m _used_ to these pains, Harry … I can put up with them for a little while longer.”

“I’m sorry … I wish that … if there was any other way, I'd …” Harry muttered in frustrated vain.

He might have tried a hundred of these broken little sentences, but it wouldn’t have done any good. There was no other solution … the evil forces that Hermione had been a victim of had made certain of that. In a bizarre sort of way, though, she felt that taking back her injuries by choice was almost a form of resistance in itself … a first step in standing tall against those who had cast themselves as her enemies.

She wouldn’t let them dominate her this time, wouldn’t be beaten by them. She had these curses on her, she couldn’t do anything about that right now, but instead of running and crying and whimpering about it, she was going to show courage and absorb the horrible truth … and then _use_ what she knew to fight back.

And, in an earth-shattering sense of recognition, Hermione suddenly felt the same way as she was sure a certain _Mrs Potter_ must once have done, when considering the sacrifices she needed to make, in order to find the best way to save her son _and_ her friends in the same action. And Hermione felt utterly galvanised by the comparison, as if she were being dressed in molten goblin steel.

For if such bravery was suitable for _one_ Mrs Potter, then perhaps it was suitable for another … or _maybe_ even a witch who hoped to one day _bear_ that name.

“Let’s do this, Harry,” Hermione declared, fiercely. “I’m ready. Right now.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed, bitterly. “I’m sorry, Hermione … don’t hate me for this.”

“I will _never_ hate you, Harry,” Hermione smiled beautifully. “For _anything_. One day, probably far in the future, we’re going to have a really soppy conversation about all this, but we aren’t there yet. We have to fight first, and hurt some more, and be angry with the world before we earn that sort of joy.

“But know this … you’ve saved my life, in more ways that you can possibly imagine. I’m here with you, alive and injury-free. You’ve given me safety, a gorgeous home, and a new friend willing to take intense _pain_ for me. That’s beyond any dream I might have had six months ago.

“But you’ve also given me a chance … at _revenge._ A chance to fight back and punish those _really_ responsible for my suffering. And I’m going to get to do it with you _at my side …_ the way we always were, the way we should always have _been …_ and the way we always _will be_ from now on _._ And we are going to _hurt_ them, Harry … as they hurt us … so that people like them will think twice about hurting anyone else. Ever again.”

Harry grinned widely at her. “When did you become such a Queen?”

Hermione beamed back forcefully. “Ever since I knew my _King_ was back on the board. So come on … let’s put these bastards into our first _check …_ let them know what sort of fire they are _really_ playing with!”


	11. Night Terrors

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The crackling torches of the driveway were still lit. Hermione swallowed at the sight, her mouth dry and arid as she looked at them. Her skin crawled with roiling fear. But turning back was simply not on option. The wards to the house would have been activated by now, it would already be known that she'd returned. She felt sick every time she crossed the security perimeter, the darkness of the magic there always settled ill on her stomach. She dry retched against the sensation, then began a slow walk towards the house.

Over to her left, Hermione could hear the prisoners of the camp being worked away, even this late into the night. They were building a new block and the scraping of shovels and the sounds of construction drifted to her ears on the close, still air. Hermione didn't want to know what the new block would be used for. It was bad enough that Draco Malfoy himself regularly turned up to inspect its progress. If his Section Seven had anything to do with the place ... Hermione shuddered at the very notion. If _he_ was going to be close by, it might be worth throwing herself from the roof of the manor house after all.

There was a crack somewhere in the camp. It may have been a whip, or the snapping of bone. Hermione had conditioned herself to be dully immune to such things. She'd protested once before, when they first moved here, begged Ron to soundproof the house at the very least. To keep them from hearing the misery outside. He'd punched her in the face for her insolence. These were the sounds of victory, of justice, he'd insisted. Then he locked her in the Black Room for two days without food. Or light. And just a canteen of stagnant water for sustenance, still there from her last _stay_.

It had taken two months before she could sleep again with the lights off once he'd released her.

But how she wished the lights were off now. Each torch she passed acted like a cruel pointer to her impending fate. Each one flickered out as she went by, marking the moments like the sinister conductor of the Devil's Orchestra. She knew what was going to happen when she reached the house ... it was just a case of how bad it would be. And, if she knew her _husband_ , it would be pretty horrific. He was getting worse at his punishments, and by _worse_ Hermione meant _more effective_ , reducing her to a greater mess of a wreck each and every time.

It filled her with unspeakable anguish that they hadn't fulfilled their duty-bound marital commune this month. That was always something of an ordeal, but lately Ron had been experimenting in making it a new form of torture for her. She often heard his concubines screeching in agony as he tested out his new techniques on them, all to make them perfectly horrendous for _her_.

All permitted under the guise of a formal expectation as part of their marriage contract.

Hermione had no legal recourse to protest. Not that anyone would have listened to her. King Voldemort had enforced a raft of laws that made witches like her the property of their wedded Lords. She might as well have appealed for justice to a tree, for all the good it would have done. The Death Eaters of the legal courts would turn any complaint she made into an act of treason against the Dark King and his 'reforms'. They'd sooner burn her at the stake, like poor Hannah Abbott, than bring her husband to heel.

So, if Ron chose to torture her sexually, she had no choice but to endure it as best she could. Then cry her silent tears later in her separate bed, when she was sure he wouldn't hear ... and punish her for that, too.

Hermione really wished she could fathom what had happened to him, how power had corrupted him so greatly that he shirked off all sense of honour and decency. He had been an okay sort of guy once, during a time Hermione now honestly struggled to remember. She just never imagined Ron would become the devil she now knew.

She felt certain his cunt of a sister had a lot to do with it.

The way Ginny had thrown herself at Voldemort's feet ranked as one of the most disgusting displays Hermione had ever witnessed. A willing volunteer to bear his children, she still recalled the way her hair had turned an ugly, evil tint of black as his seed quickened in her womb for the first time, how her eyes lost all semblance of colour, given over to hatred and malice. It made her sick to think on it.

Hermione shuddered at the memories. How had it come to this? She felt inordinately jealous of Harry right then, for escaping this nightmare when he did. He would have hated this, riled against it so much. It was a stupid train of thought. Harry would never have allowed this, if he had any say at all. He would have gone down fighting, he _did,_ after all. Surely, that was how he came to die in the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione steadfastly refused to believe Voldemort's propaganda, that Harry had walked to his death, died on his knees like a coward. It screamed against every notion, every shred of knowledge she had about her lost best friend. But that's how Voldemort's new history books would record it. Harry's name, his deeds, had been forcibly scrubbed from _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ and _Modern Magical History_. His entry didn't even make the new appendix of the amended _Rise and Rise of the Dark Arts_. He was a footnote in history, reduced to a passing nuance, paid as little mind as the New World Order could allow.

Except for those who knew and loved him. Some things just couldn't be erased.

Unless the entire wizarding population was Memory Charmed. Hermione wouldn't put that past those bastards. It was the kind of sweeping evil they were prone to. Hermione actually moaned at the thought. Imagine losing all knowledge of Harry to a spell? She didn't think she could bear that. She resolved to protect her mind from such an eventuality. If Ron ever came across that idea he'd probably curse her in her sleep. She'd wake up one day and Harry Potter would never have existed for her ...

And all her remaining hope in the world would die with his stolen memory.

She had to push her memories of Harry deep, deep down. The final security checkpoint was coming up. If they scanned her mind and found those thoughts close to the surface, they'd report it to Ron. She couldn't let that happen. Those memories were her most precious possessions, they kept her sane. She had to defend them. Hermione focused her brain, throwing up her low-level Occlumency shields. They were light, barely noticeable. The guards were not accomplished Legilimens, and the standard intrusion spells didn't delve too deeply. She had to be thankful for small mercies these days.

She reached the checkpoint barrier and handed over her wand. She felt naked and vulnerable without it. The two Death Eater guards took turns inspecting it, testing it for hidden curses or enchantments. They frowned as they found it clean. Then, each one took a turn patting her down, lingering longer than was necessary on her breasts and the upper parts of her thighs, all the while smirking malevolently. Then, without warning, they cast curses at her. First the Imperius, to ensure she had no mental defences in place, as they were illegal. Hermione felt her mind wander, she lost her ideas of space and time. Then she came shuddering back with a thud. Their spell work was clumsy, awkward. It smacked a full-blown migraine into her head.

Then her head was forced into a Legilimency Probe between two crackling rods. It stung as the imbibed spell crossed her mind. It flirted with her shields, but didn't dip beyond a surface level. One Death Eater examined the results on an emerald tablet. Seemingly satisfied with the results, he cancelled the probe.

"You are past curfew, Mrs Weasley," said the second Death Eater, returning her wand.

"I lost track of time," she offered, rubbing her temples to offset the ache throbbing there.

"I have no interest in your explanations," he said coldly. "You can explain that to your Wedded Lord. I sincerely hope his reprimand to you is sufficient. You need to learn your place in the hierarchy of things."

Hermione bowed her head and the guards parted for her. She edged towards the house, her cautious steps crunching on the gravel underfoot. Her heart beat furiously in protest the closer she got. Her skin prickled with so much fear it was like being licked with icy fire. She couldn't control her rasping, ragged breaths as she lingered at the door, fumbling for her key with shaking fingers.

Then, the heavy door simply swung open for her ... slowly, menacingly.

"You're late."

Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach, already coiling with sickness. The entry hallway to the house was in complete darkness. Hermione could hear Ron's voice, but couldn't see where he was. He would love that, to taunt her, to keep her guessing when he would strike. She was frozen on the threshold, held fast by the thrill of terror rushing through her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered meekly. "It was Susan's birthday and ..."

And she never got to explain, for a rough hand snatched out from the darkness, tangled painfully in the curly locks she'd made up so carefully and prettily, with glitter and ribbons, for her night out, and dragged her into the house, slamming the door shut behind her ...

* * *

Hermione bolted awake and jumped up, heart racing, leant over the side of her bed and threw up copiously. She squeaked and baulked and fell back onto her pillows, fighting to push away the dark memories of her nightmare. Her cheeks were sodden with hot tears. The dark images were clustering at the edges of her mind, tunnelling her vision into a swirling mass of blackness. She struggled to calm herself, to regain control of her panicked senses and remember where she was.

There was a _pop_ and Sally was at her side. Her eyes were wide as she clocked Hermione's desperate state.

"Lady Hermione!" she shrieked, looking at the pool of vomit soaking into the carpet. "What be wrong?"

"I-I had a nightmare," Hermione mumbled shakily, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"You not need be sorry," Sally soothed, cleaning up the sick with an effortless snap of her fingers. Another click and a calming spell settled on Hermione, slowing her whirlwind of fear to a gentle trundle.

 _I'm not there anymore, I'm not there anymore_ , Hermione repeated over and over in her mind, breathing heavily and wringing her hands together in worried shame.

Sally cast her hand over Hermione's sweaty forehead. "Well, you not have fever, at least. But come, let Sally get you into clean nightie. You be ill all over that one."

Hermione slowly rose from her bed. Her legs were still trembling from the dream, but the images were starting to fade now she wasn't by herself. She stripped down, beyond modesty, and Sally conjured a cold cloth, which she rubbed her down with. Then she helped her into a new nightdress and guided her to her favourite seat by the window, where a light breeze helped to cool her hot brow.

"Does Lady Hermione want me to fetch Master Harry?" asked Sally. "I know he come at once."

Hermione was sorely tempted a moment. Harry would make it all better just by being there with her. But she checked herself. It had been scant days since Enola had woken, screeching and writhing in agony, after taking Hermione's physical pains from Harry after _he_ had sneakily stolen them from _her_. Then Harry worked on Enola personally, refusing the help of the Healing witches of the palace, as he bombarded Neville's wife with brutal Healing spells and Potions, the sort that Hermione had been deemed too weak to be able to endure herself. But Harry also steadfastly refused to let Hermione stay and watch the process, so she was forced leave them to it, focusing instead on keeping Neville as far away as possible, lest he lose his mind as he tried to drown out Enola's pained screams.

The whole thing had been almost as damaging and draining for Harry as having the wounds himself. So now, after battling with Enola's wounds for a mammoth thirty-seven hours straight, Harry had finally decided she was okay to do the rest on her own, and he was just isolating from the palace and recovering from the ordeal in private.

"No, I'll be alright," Hermione replied to her elf with a rattling breath. It was half-true. She'd won the battle for now, not let her sleep demons best her this time. She just wouldn't give them the satisfaction of _sleeping_. She had a good potion for that. "Harry needs to rest. Merlin knows I can relate to just how much."

"Master Harry be very brave taking Lady Hermione's aches and pains, and Lady Enola very brave to take them from him," Sally agreed, proudly. "Sally be knowing how very bad they was. Master Harry very brave, but also stubborn as old goat."

"Stubborn?" Hermione queried.

"Master Harry not rest, not heal like normal wizard," Sally confessed, sadly. "He choose to face pain, to master it. Sally never seen it work, but Master Harry insist on doing it. But Sally will let him off this time."

Hermione sat up crossly, her bad dream forgotten in the face of Harry being up and about and suffering needlessly, and _not telling_ her he was, so she could tell him off for it. "So ... you're telling me that Harry _isn't_ in bed recuperating?"

"No, my Lady," Sally confirmed.

"Then where is he?" Hermione asked, crossly. "And why will you _'let him off'?"_

"Master Harry at his Shrine with Firebird Lily," said Sally.

Hermione quirked her eyebrows. "His _Shrine?_ "

"Is where Mrs and Mr Potter sleep forever," said Sally. "Would have been Mrs Potter's birthday today."

Hermione gasped aloud. Harry had brought his parents here? Dug up their graves and moved their bones? But why?

"Sally, can you take me to him?"

"Sally not sure," said the elf, wringing her hands nervously. "She not be sure if Master Harry be wanting to share such a private moment."

"He'll want to share it with me," said Hermione, confidently. "Can you at least ask him for me?"

Just then there was a flash of flame above them. It yielded Lily, Harry's beautiful phoenix. Sally looked up at her and actually smirked.

"Sally be thinking Lady Hermione have her answer," she said. "Master Harry always be listening and watching for her. Firebird Lily be waiting for you, my Lady. But Sally insist you wear a dressing gown. It be chilly outside. _Nippy ..._ for a Lady witch."

Hermione blushed at the inference and slipped into her thick gown, pulling it tight around her body. Lily fluttered to her shoulder and instantly whipped her away in a blast of fire. Hermione wasn't sure she particularly liked this way of travelling, it was quite dizzying. Lily didn't seemed to notice her discomfort, leaving her alone at the entry to an outdoor mausoleum and soaring over to Harry, who was sat cross-legged nearby.

Harry crooked his arm without moving his head, feeling Lily's presence as she reached him. The phoenix perched on his arm, the way Hermione had seen Hedwig do countless times before. She lamented the loss of Harry's first familiar a moment. Then Harry spoke to her.

"Sit with me, Hermione," Harry requested softly.

Hermione moved slowly to Harry's side and eased herself down next to him. She still moved cautiously, out of habit, though she now felt no pain at all. Well, at least none that was physical.

"You should be resting," she said gently, trying not to be too overbearing.

Harry looked down. Hermione had sat very close to him, so close that their thighs were touching. The sight seemed to hypnotise him a second.

"I am resting," Harry replied, sighing. He fixed his eye firmly ahead. "I feel calm here. It helps."

Hermione followed Harry's line of sight. He was looking at two large, marble headstones in front of him. They looked fairly new, well cared for. Fresh flowers had been placed at the base of one of the headstones, the one Harry was directly in front of. Even Hermione, who was no kind of botanist, could guess what kind of flowers they were.

"You brought them here?" she asked softly.

"I had to," Harry replied lowly. "They would have been desecrated if I'd left them in Godric's Hollow. I couldn't allow that. I ... I don't know if they mind that I moved them or not. I hope not."

His shaking voice betrayed his worry. Hermione snaked out her hand and smoothed his forearm comfortingly. She knew it was still a risk, to test Harry's physical boundaries. But he made not the slightest movement to withdraw or push her off. He allowed the contact ... and Hermione's chest fluttered that he did so.

"I'm sure they know you did what you thought was right," said Hermione. "I think it's right, and I'm sure they do, too."

She couldn't see his face, but she could sense him smile.

"Then that's the only validation I need. My Mum said to trust you. I always did. The one time I didn't, I let Riddle take me out of the game. I'll never make that mistake again, I swear it to you."

Hermione sat in stilled shock. "You ... you talked to your Mum about ... about _me?"_

Harry chuckled. "Actually, she talked to _me_ about _you_."

"When?" Hermione asked, breathily.

"Five years ago, when Riddle sent me to the very edge of the afterlife," Harry replied, vaguely. He shifted awkwardly. "I'm a little bit ashamed of what happened when I was there. I'd rather not talk about it."

Harry stiffened and edged away from her.

"You were ashamed of talking to your Mum about me?" asked Hermione, honestly a little hurt.

"No, I didn't mean ashamed like that," Harry corrected her, quickly. "That's not what I meant at all."

Hermione felt pacified by Harry's slightly manic reaction, but she was still wary. "Well, what then?"

"It's just that ... I'm still ashamed she had to speak to me at all. That she had to wake from her eternal rest ... just because of what I was going to do."

"Which was?"

"I ... I was going to take the train," said Harry, his voice shamed and tiny.

Hermione turned fully to sit facing him. "I don't understand what that means, Harry."

Harry stiffened further, sighed deeply and bowed his head so low that his shoulders hunched. "When Riddle cursed me, I went to the very edge of death," Harry began heavily. "It took the form of a spectral Kings Cross train station. I met Dumbledore there, had the conversation with him I already told you about. But ... I left a bit out."

"Which bit?"

"The bit where he gave me the option of taking a train to go ... to go ... _on."_

Hermione sucked in a breath as she realised what Harry was suggesting.

"I ... I asked Dumbledore," Harry stuttered on. "I asked if you would stay with Ron. I was so exhausted, Hermione. I was done. I'd had enough of the pain, the fighting, the suffering. You'd kissed Ron, I knew you wanted to be with him. I trusted that he would take care of you if I ... if I didn't come back.

"I asked Dumbledore three times if you would stay with Ron. He looked me in the eyes each time and said you would. But he didn't elaborate on it. I know now that it would have interfered with his plans. I thought ... I _dumbly_ assumed that would mean Ron would protect you, and you'd be safe. You'd be okay without me. So I ... I called for the train. I even got on it and sat down."

Hermione felt her pulse speeding in her neck. Tears stung behind her eyes. Lily suddenly took flight from Harry and landed deftly on her shoulder. It made her instantly calm, and a little bit coy and shy. She couldn't understand why. It recovered her power of speech, however.

"But ... the train didn't go ... go _on?_ "

"No," said Harry. "You see, I didn't remain on my own on the train for very long. My mother appeared from another carriage ... one further down the train, one I couldn't see into because it was so cloudy and milky. She was so _beautiful_ , Hermione. I was mesmerised by her. I just looked at her face, her gorgeous smile, for the longest time. It might have been months, just staring at her. I couldn't look enough. And it was the _real_ her, not the dark copy Dumbledore had trapped in the Resurrection Stone.

"Eventually she spoke to me. She told me it wasn't my time, that I wasn't finished with life. And it was nothing to do with Voldemort or any of it. That was just window dressing."

"What did she mean then?" asked Hermione.

"She told me I was in love and didn't know it," Harry replied, distantly. "And I ought to go back and experience it fully. That it would change not only my _life_ , but my very _soul._ It would make all my pain pale into insignificance. She said it was such a powerful love it could change the world around me. And that the girl I loved was owed to be told about it."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Lily the Phoenix sang out beautifully. The note quavered in the air and resonated in her bones. It filled her with brightness and light, boundless energy, and waves of emotion that left her light-headed. It chased away the last lingering remnants of Hermione's nightmare. She wasn't certain, but she couldn't shake the impression that this was how Lily talked to her ... and she wasn't entirely sure which _Lily_ was doing the talking.

"Harry ... I ..." she tried to say. She wanted to say a million things just then, but none seemed quite right. In the end she settled on, "how did you _get_ Lily?"

"My Mum gave her to me, to get me _back_ ," Harry explained. "She just summoned her as we sat on the train. I didn't name her, like Neville thinks. Lily was already her name. I think some part of my Mum is in her. I think that was her Animagus form. When she spirited me back, she stayed with me ... to watch over me."

"Neville said she never goes to anyone else," said Hermione, looking at the beautiful bird on her shoulder. "But she doesn't mind coming to me."

"She reflects my emotions," Harry smiled. "And my Mum's, too. She approved of you, so Lily does as well."

Hermione blinked. She was beyond humbled, so shivery with awe that she could barely think.

"I'm not asking for anything extraordinary, despite how that all sounded," Harry went on, quietly. "I'd have never told you that story if I could have avoided it. I don't want you to feel cornered or pressured. That wasn't my intention at all."

"Cornered? _Pressured_?" Hermione huffed. "To be _loved_ by you? There is nothing but beauty in that, Harry! I don't _deserve it_ , I've done nothing to warrant it."

"You've been _you_ ," said Harry. "All my life. For all the wonder and loveliness that really means. For the rise of my conscience, for my introduction to what love actually _is_. So that I could recognise it when I was properly able to _see it._ And that's more than I was ever due. I didn't see it before because I didn't deserve to. I still don't. To feel what I do for you ... I shouldn't have been blessed with that emotion, with the capacity to feel it. I shouldn't have known such a thing could exist. And you are _more_ than worthy. It's what makes what has happened to you even more despicable. To think that Ron ... to think that _I_..."

"How many times, Harry!" cried Hermione, hotly. " _You_ didn't do anything!"

"I boarded the train ..." Harry murmured, his voice childlike, infinitesimally little. Like apologising for a scolding he could not avoid before it came. "I was going to go on. I wanted to. I left you behind, consciously. Gave up ... on life ... on _you_. And I'd have never known ... never known what _this_ was. How it felt. How wonderfully _amazing_ it felt. Just to _know_ it, whether you feel anything for me or not. My entire existence would have been a sham without the knowing, a waste of bone and sinew. Just to be _able_ to feel this for you ... it makes me even more ashamed that I might not have ever known about it."

Hermione wished she could quell the rampant flickering of her heart. She was so breathless at Harry's words she couldn't formulate the right replies in her mind.

"So ... you boarded the train," she said, eventually. "And your Mum talked you into getting off and coming back, for ... for _me_?"

Harry nodded. Hermione could hardly breathe.

"And you alone. She forgave me for my moment of selfishness," Harry replied, staring hard at his mother's gravestone, tracing her name hungrily with his eye. The moonlight had shone directly at the engraving just then. "She told me off first. I mean, she is my Mum. She didn't get the chance to tell me off for anything when she was alive ... because of _everything_. I think she quite enjoyed it, actually."

Hermione smiled fondly, looking at the grave, too. She leaned over gently and pulled her wand. She conjured a wreath of red roses and placed them against the marble with a whispered _'happy birthday, Mrs Potter'_. Harry watched her and his breath caught, coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

"If your Mum forgave you, then so do I," said Hermione, sitting back. "But you need to forgive me right back."

Harry turned to her questioningly. "For what?"

"For settling for Ron at Hogwarts," Hermione began. "For not telling you a long time ago how I felt about you. I could have at least have given you the option, given you something to think about. And I need you to forgive me for not fighting for you. I settled into bondage, into despair. I allowed it. I even considered suicide when it got too much. It wasn't you who was selfish ... it was _me_. I was cowardly, afraid of you. Afraid of a real relationship, one I knew might last forever once it had begun ...

"... I was afraid of being _in love with you_."

Harry gulped. Hermione watched his throat rise and fall with it. There were words trapped there somewhere. Harry struggled to get them out.

"Is ... is that what you were?" he croaked after a minute or so.

Hermione nodded, offering her most adoring smile. "And it's what I _still am_. I always have been. Whereas you didn't _know_ , I didn't let myself _be_."

"And now?"

"Now I just want to drown in you."

Harry seemed to melt. The lines in his forehead relaxed in utter contentment, his eye flashed with sheer elation. But it wasn't enough for Hermione. She slowly, tentatively reached up, tracking her hand around his head, questing for the knot at the top of his shawl. She pulled gently till it gave to her. Harry didn't make one motion to stop her.

Emboldened, she gently unravelled the shawl. Hermione shivered nervously, feeling the act as intimate as if she were actually _undressing_ him. Harry closed his eye, bracing himself against his building shame. Hermione moved her free hand under his drooping chin, gently easing his head back up. His eye opened questioningly, swimming in disbelief. He couldn't process that she wanted to see his ruined face. It was all kinds of wrong in his world that, despite everything, Hermione _wanted_ to look at him. His soft, baffled gaze considered her as if she were an alien creature. What that meant, what it spoke of his mental state, sent Hermione wild with despair. She continued unwrapping the shawl until it came away completely.

Then she threw it aside, away from Harry's reach, determined it wouldn't get used again tonight.

Hermione cupped a hand delicately to Harry's good, left side. Her thumb tracked a path back and forth across his cheek as she smiled beautifully at him. His skin was maddeningly soft, despite the damage so blatantly staring back at her. She looked as close as she ever had before, inspected every inch of flesh, the good and the hurt. Then she just gazed into Harry's eye, both of hers boring into his lone pupil, communicating all her thoughts and wants and desires as best as she could manage, determined to make Harry believe every single one of them before the night was out.

Hermione's other hand then came up behind Harry's neck, her fingers dancing little circles at his nape, tickling the little triangle of downy hair she surprisingly found there. His eye darted wondrously across her face, searching, hoping, hotly curious to dissect her intent.

It was only then Hermione realised that the air around them was throbbing. It was heaving like it had in the Ritual Chamber, encasing them in such a cocoon of energy ... it was like bathing in caramel. But it wasn't _Harry's_ energy ... it was hers ... or _theirs_. She couldn't define it properly. She only knew she didn't want to leave it ... _ever._ Harry was letting her in, this was his way of showing her. And he'd let her unveil his face ...

How far dare Hermione go?

She decided to leap. Her hands about Harry's face and neck kept up with their movements. He had closed his eye at her touch. But she wanted him to be aware of what she was about to do.

"Harry ..." she whispered breathily.

He opened his eye to her, watched slowly as she inched her face closer to his, didn't resist when she slightly tilted his head. He felt wonderfully compliant and pliable in her hands. He was shaking crazily, it drove Hermione's thoughts into a cartwheel. At this point, Lily took flight and encircled them, as if standing guard against any disturbance.

It was the last piece of encouragement Hermione needed.

She boldly closed the gap between them and pressed her lips softly to Harry's, mindful of his cut side. He gasped a moment, then shuddered all over as Hermione's tongue raked against his mouth. He was really defenceless, and he opened up for her without resistance. It took about ten seconds of Hermione's dominance for Harry to really accept this was happening, that maybe Hermione actually _meant_ it. Meant every swipe of her lips against his, every unrepentant thrust of her tongue against the sides of his mouth, when it wasn't duelling with his own.

And then, he just gave to it. Taking Hermione by immense surprise, his hands found her waist, raced up to her shoulders and then swept her across him and to the ground, where he dropped himself atop her, kissing her passionately with no mind for his injured lips at all. Hermione was knocked senseless by his intensity, and forgot he was injured at all for a few moments, until she accidentally moved her roaming hand to his scar. He winced in unmasked agony as she touched his wounded skin and she broke apart from him.

"Oh, Harry ... are you alright? ... I'm so, so sorry!"

Harry looked down at her, his beautiful, lopsided grin as wide as his smashed features would allow. Hermione thought she'd never seen such a wondrous sight in her whole life.

"For _that_? Some pain is worth it ... and that _definitely_ counts!"

Hermione laughed nervously beneath him. Her heart was speeding, her chest heaving, but the pause allowed them both to draw breath, to consider what had happened. Harry still looked a little wary, as though he wasn't quite able to believe he was actually where he was.

"Harry ... say something," Hermione breathed throatily.

"You are quite ridiculously beautiful, did you know?" he said sweetly, brushing a stray hair away from her cheek, which was scarlet from a deep blush. "Do you mind if I just out and stare at you from time to time, without it seeming weird?"

Hermione laughed and tugged Harry back down on to her. She wanted to feel him close again, feel his body heat mingle with her own. She had to slow her heart. If she passed out and missed this moment she might never forgive herself. "You can look at me as much as you like, on one condition."

"Name it," said Harry. "I suppose I should just lay it out there and say that I'll do pretty much anything you ask."

"I want to be able to see _you_ ," said Hermione, one hand idly playing with Harry's hair, while the other arm hugged his body as close as she could get it. "I want to see your face, to kiss that wonderful mouth of yours. Even if we have to go somewhere private to do it every time."

Harry brought his arms up and curled them around her shoulders. "I can do that."

For a few minutes they just lay there, quiet and content. It was Harry who broke the companionable silence.

"I'm going to sit with you tonight, spell you to restful sleep," he said. "Don't even think of arguing. I have an errand to run tomorrow, then we are going to talk about these nightmares of yours."

"How do you know ..."

"I just do," said Harry. "I didn't just take your physical wounds, remember?" He sat up, and pulled her with him. "We _will_ heal that part of you. I promise you that."

Hermione couldn't help it. She leaned in and kissed him again. She knew immediately that all her fears about Harry were right ... he was going to become a fucking addiction for her, one that she might never satiate. She could barely stay away from him as it was. She was in so much trouble.

They slowly, reluctantly, broke apart. "What errand do you have to run? Can I come?"

"Are you feeling up to a jaunt outside the wards?" asked Harry. "It's okay if you aren't. It isn't safe out there."

"That goes for you too," said Hermione. "And I have no intention of hiding in here any more than you do. So, where are we going?"

"I have to go and find out how Luna's doing, we haven't heard from her in a while," said Harry casually. "I'm worried she might be in danger now that my secret is out. She's crucial to my plan to decimate Tom Riddle for good."

Hermione was positively aroused at Harry's assertion of _decimation_. He had no idea what his forcefulness did to witches. It was devastatingly alluring. Then she cocked a curious glance at him.

"Luna ... does she know you're _alive ..._ because if she does and didn't tell me ... I should warn you I might be liable to kill her!"

Harry barked a laugh at her. "Oh no, she doesn't know ... at least, as far as I'm aware. But Nev and I have been pulling a few strings behind the scenes for years. Ernie Macmillan was our contact in the Wizarding World. He manoeuvred Luna into her role at the Department of Mysteries and she's been doing some interesting research for us, without ever knowing what it was really for.

"Ernie and Nev used to meet regularly. Nev was gutted when he heard about him being butchered by Malfoy. I don't know if Ernie knew about me for certain, either, but we are reasonably sure he guessed I was still around. He never did understand why Nev had such an unnatural interest in your well-being, when he'd married the witch Ernie considered the most gorgeous woman under the sky."

"Enola is stunning," Hermione agreed.

"She is, but I think you're prettier," said Harry, shyly.

Hermione blushed. "Don't be silly, Harry."

"I'm not being silly," he said, firmly.

He looked at her stoutly, unquestionable truth in his eye, in every line of his face, both wrecked and beautiful parts. It took Hermione's breath away and she flushed hot all over. He actually _meant_ that. How could he mean that? She couldn't pull the truth into her mind at first, but it kept pounding at her from Harry's earnest expression, until she had no choice but to submit to it.

"Thank you," she mumbled. It was all she could manage. "I don't know quite what else to say."

"Thank you, for letting me look," Harry replied, blushing deeply himself. His scar went an odd sort of blotchy purple when he blushed. Hermione found it distractingly cute.

"When you go for Luna, can I come then?" she asked, to redirect the conversation.

"Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Absolutely," said Hermione. "Besides, she lived near my old house in Glastonbury. I can show you the way."

"You know you have Alert Charms on you, yes?" said Harry. "They were part of the Enchantments I had to give you back from Enola. The authorities will know pretty quickly if you trigger an alarm."

Hermione nodded. "I know that, but I also know where all the Death Eater checkpoints are in the town. I used to dodge them for sport, when I wanted to escape for some alone time back at the start. Besides, I'm not afraid ... I'll be with _you_. You'll look after me, wont you?"

Her tone was teasing, but Harry's response was serious. "I'll gut the fucking _lot_ of them if they turn up and threaten you."

"No, you'll spare some for _me,_ " Hermione replied, darkly. "I have a few scores of my own to settle."

Harry quirked an eyebrow at her and laughed.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," said Harry. "It's just that ... I've often heard the girls say it's sexy when I get a bit ... _dark._ I never really got that till just now ... and now I _totally_ understand!"

"If you like _that_ dirty talk, wait till we're ready to go to bed," said Hermione, huskily. "Enola has been teaching me some of her bedroom vocabulary. She's really quite a filthy little witch, that one!"

Harry laughed, almost nervously. "Been anticipating needing a new language, have you?"

Hermione smiled sultrily back at him. "Only since, ooh, about my second day here! Since I decided I would need to christen _my_ new house. You think _your_ rituals are powerful ... you wait till you see what I have planned for _you."_

She saw Harry shiver at her words, his eagerness evident in his posture, his glowing skin. But now was too soon, he'd only just consented to kissing. Other things would have to wait.

Hermione just hoped she wouldn't have to wait too long. Though, she thought dreamily, maybe ... in this case ... a wedding night _would_ be worth waiting for.


	12. Bedtime Rituals

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry hung back out of respect. He knew that Hermione was only taking off her dressing gown, but, as every sinew of his body was aching for her, he didn't trust himself to hold in his control at just this mild display of disrobing. His imagination was vivid enough to fill in the blanks his loins throbbed for, and the energies of the palace were treacherous to what should be a secret intent. Everyone from the lowest under-gardener to his Inner Circle would know what was on his mind just then.

If they didn't already, of course.

But Harry's composure was being severely tested. His mind raced at what Hermione was doing in the room beyond, no matter how simple an act it was. Not being in sight of her didn't help at all. Without being able to see, he could picture her doing it _teasingly_ , as though knowing he was watching or thinking about her. An hour ago, the very idea would have been so absurd that Harry would have laughed it off as a symptom of his delusional mania. He might have been concerned about the depths of his mental instability. But now, he could almost convince himself this preposterous idea might actually be possible.

Especially now that Hermione had kissed him like an enamoured lover.

Harry leaned against the wall and marvelled at the evening. It was his best mother's birthday ever. Harry couldn't wipe the grin off his face, even if it only could cover half of it. Fucking Voldemort and his power curses. Silly cunt. Hermione had _kissed him_. Actually kissed him, with her tongue and everything. _On purpose_. That was something he found extremely hard to conceptualise, even though it had happened less than half an hour previous. The texture of her tongue still clung to the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to lick it off. He wore it like a private badge of honour.

Hermione had _really kissed him!_

He felt like a teenage boy again, ridiculously excited at the burgeoning idea of girls, as though it were a brand new thing. He shouldn't be fluttering inside like this. He'd killed people, conducted dark and dangerous ritual magic, fought the dead and the living and beaten both. He was a tough, ugly, scarred man. Not a lovesick teenager. But that's how he felt. Dizzy, and joyously quivery, and light-headed, and lost, and so flustered he could hardly hold his head in place.

And all he wanted to do was hug the girl in the next room forever. To hell with Horcruxes and snake-shagging Dark Wizards. Someone else could deal with that rubbish. But the girl _herself_ didn't want to just hug ... she wanted to _fight_ , too. And that stirred Harry so poignantly that he felt like squealing. He loved Neville, his Brother-In-Blood. He'd enjoyed killing Dark Wizards alongside him. With Enola, too, who killed so flawlessly she made it an art form.

But there was something about the idea of Hermione in battle, killing for him, maybe _defending him_ , that speeded Harry's heart to reckless abandon. He couldn't describe it, or why it made him grin so foolishly. And he wasn't ignorant to the way the idea aroused him, either. The very notion of Hermione opening up aggressively on someone to protect him ... well, there was just that _something_ about it that excited him. Harry couldn't rightly explain it, wasn't sure how to cope with it.

Because there was this hidden element to Hermione's magic that hit him in the stomach and immediately raced lower. If he had been sensible to such things, Harry might have recognised that it _turned him on_. But it had been so many years since _that_ had properly happened that Harry had forgotten what it felt like.

But now, it seemed, Hermione's magic was turning that back on, too.

For her power had taken Harry's breath away during the ritual to destroy McGonagall's Horcrux. Harry had always known she was gifted. Of course she was, this was Hermione, more brilliant than anyone he'd ever known. He knew, even though he'd been too shy to say, that she was clever beyond the books she used to shield her modesty, but he had no idea quite how potent she was. He had struggled to hold her magic steady when he drew it from her, and was reduced to taking only a fraction of the amount he otherwise would have.

And even this was enough to basically overload him. In more ways than he would openly admit.

It was sobering. It devastated all the rituals he'd designed for her, to bring out her natural power. He'd been so careful with them, too, factoring in her astral chart and elemental bias, her zodiac signals and what he hoped was her alchemical role. _That_ at least he was certain of. His mother had been utterly right ... she was his _white queen_ in every sense. His soror mystica through and through. Mums always knew best, it would seem.

But Hermione's power level meant that Harry would have to redesign everything to account for her, frankly, jaw-dropping magical potential.

Harry was thrilled at that. It set his heart racing at a thunderous tempo. There was so much Hermione didn't yet know, so much he couldn't wait to share with her. She had no idea who she was, or who she _could be_. Who _they_ could be. His own awakening had been so monumental ... it brought a smile to his mind just remembering it. It made him laugh to think that a circus conjurer like Tom Riddle would be presumptuous enough to position himself as a threat to that.

Really, Riddle was little more than an irritant in Harry's mind at this point. Like a mild bout of herpes. Harry knew, almost without doubt, that if they met in battle now he'd finish him in minutes. Oh Tom was powerful alright, frighteningly so. Harry would never let that get far from his mind. But that didn't make Tom a good fighter. Harry had been to the Welsh Valleys, where the big boys pumped themselves full of steroids and talked a tough game.

Didn't mean they could take a punch.

It was the same in North America. The magic there was potent, but it wasn't the gangster-dressed mages of New York, or the hooded conclaves of the Florida Keys you had to be wary of. It was the ancient magic of the Native Americans, the covens of the Ozarks, the shape shifting witches of Minnesota ... they were the ones who'd turn your insides out without so much as a warning shot. Harry had learnt so much from those groups. He was eminently thankful for the lessons they'd taught him ... and the help they'd pledged when it was time for his revolution.

A time that was coming fast.

As for Riddle, if it wasn't for the pointlessness of it, Harry would have done him in by now. But his own High Dark Death Eaters - cunts like the Lestranges and Dolohov - would have simply killed a random passer-by, used their body mass to reanimate their Dark King with his Last Horcrux, as many times as there were victims to be had. Harry didn't want _their_ blood on his hands. Good, _pure_ blood. He intended to shed so much blood of the evil kind that he doubted the train in the afterlife would accept his spiritual Oyster Card when the time came now.

But so long as Hermione could go, Harry would be okay with that.

Though if, as she'd pledged, she'd kill just as indiscriminately as him, well, they could just roam purgatory together for eternity. There was something to be said for that as a punishment. Harry could live with it. He would need nothing else. The afterlife would be a cheery place, without Dumbledore badgering him constantly, or having to justify a life of misdeeds to his overwrought parents. Just him and Hermione, doing whatever they wanted. Forever. Harry could _definitely_ live with that.

But, for now, he had to deal with Hermione's earthly woes. For, despite the scale of her magical potential, she was so mentally scarred that Harry was heartbroken just trying to process it. He couldn't quite accept it. Because for every bruise from Ron's punches, for all of Hermione's bones he'd shattered and splintered, Ron's real damage went so deep into her mind that Harry was worried he didn't have the power to help her as he'd promised. And he was so earnest when he'd made that vow. He would give all he had not to break it.

But he couldn't even hold her latest nightmare in his head without losing control of his magic. Sally had described it to him. He couldn't bring himself to view the memory she'd secretly pulled, under the guise of checking Hermione for a fever. It had helped her forget the horrors that little bit quicker. Harry was sure she wouldn't hold the violation of her mind against him, despite the numerous times it must have happened to her before. Harry had done it this time for the sake of her well-being.

But just the description was enough to send him frenzied with fury. The image of Hermione, looking so Bludger-stoppingly beautiful, with her hair all done up with bows and sparkles for a party, hair that was pulled and wrenched and actually ripped from her head ... it made Harry tear at his own messy locks in anguished frustration.

He could no longer imagine the horrors he would visit on Ron ... and he hadn't yet devised a retribution suitable enough. He would have to redefine the very concept to accommodate his justice. And with each new snippet of information on Ron's indiscretions against Hermione, Harry felt he was skirting with the borders of losing his mind. He would make quick work of Tom Riddle, he was set on that.

But with Ron ... he would drag that shit out as long as he could.

The lightshades on the walls of the long corridor abruptly shattered as Harry's unrestrained anger burst out through his internal control enchantments. He didn't care. Some other fucker could fix them. He wasn't done with breaking things yet anyway. But just then, the door to Hermione's suite was flung open and she was there before him, looking fretfully concerned. She pressed her hands to his chest, and Harry stilled almost instantly. He would later marvel at how odd that was.

"What's wrong?" Hermione whispered, worry evident in every line of her face. "I can feel your emotion from inside my room! You took it out on my new vase of flowers."

Harry looked down in shame. "Sorry. I'll fix it ..."

"What is it?" Hermione pressed gently. "What's happened?"

Harry huffed and pulled angrily at his hair. The vision of Ron was swelling in him again, surging through his veins. His magic was building, the pressure throbbing at his temples. The small candles in the hall suddenly caught fire as if they were raging sconces.

Hermione hushed to him and drew him close, pulling his head down to her shoulder. Her arms were unfathomably soft and strong. "Calm down, Harry ... talk to me."

"I know ... I know what you were dreaming of earlier," Harry seethed, bitterly. He was unbearably furious. He couldn't stop it. "Did ... did that really happen? With Ron? After Susan's birthday?"

Hermione stiffened in his arms, before shuddering violently at the memory. Harry had his answer. His anger surge was so powerful, so close to erupting, that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control it, even with Hermione trying to calm him.

"That ... that ..." Harry spat, grinding his jaw painfully. "That ... fucking ginger _cunt_."

Something snapped in the air. It was like a thunderclap. It rolled for about thirty seconds, raging up and down the corridor like a violent echo, tearing off ragged strips of wallpaper, wrenching down curtains, scarring the plaster on the ceiling, which fell like rough, angry snow all around them. Then suddenly Enola, Neville, Angharad, Myfanwy, and Enola's friend Cassie were crowding in the hall. All had their wands drawn and the combined pulsing power turned the air positively sub-tropical. Neville and Enola cast a powerful dual Shield Charm around them, encasing them all in a shimmering bubble.

"What's going on?" asked Myfanwy. She looked primed for a fight.

"There's a crack in the main staircase," added Neville ponderously.

"And half of my potions ingredients just spontaneously combusted!" chirruped Cassie.

"Sorry, Harry was just having a _moment,_ " Hermione explained.

Harry conceded to her as his spokesperson. He was unable to form words through his incendiary wrath. He was actually quite enjoying Hermione threading her fingers rhythmically through his hair to try and sedate him. But the images still roiled within him. He couldn't push them away.

"Was it about a certain red head we wont mention?" asked Neville, quirking a grin at Hermione. "I told you not to say his name around here."

"I didn't. It was _Harry_ who mentioned him, but I think the moniker he used was ' _fucking ginger cunt',_ " she returned evenly, slightly amused.

"Yeah, that's what he normally calls him," said Cassie, pocketing her wand now the danger had passed. "I have a whole cabinet of _FGC_ pain potions that we've designed to use on him. Unless Harry has shattered them all."

Harry guffawed, his anger subsiding slightly. He turned his head on Hermione's shoulder to look at Cassie. "I told you to magic-proof the room."

"I _did_!" Cassie complained. "Twice!"

"Sorry," Harry winked.

"Come on," said Enola, stepping forwards. "There's only one person who can sort Harry out now. But first ..."

She drew her wand and delicately drew a containment rune on Harry's forehead, his only bit of exposed skin. He rolled his eye but allowed it. Hermione looked on, and Harry watched her curiously. He wasn't totally sure, but he could have sworn he saw Hermione frown jealously as Enola's magic touched him. It made Harry's insides squirm again, and his anger shirked away a little more.

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione. "Who will help Harry?"

"The only person guaranteed to calm him," said Enola. "Can you take us, Sally?"

Enola looked down at the elf, who had appeared between Harry and Hermione's legs. She nodded

"Hold hands," said Sally. Harry, Hermione and Enola obliged as though they were sealing a pact. Then Sally placed her long fingers over them and they were Apparated two floors up.

And Harry's rage slipped away like a raspy breeze.

He didn't even hesitate to pull his shawl off. It was a reflexive action, as if the room were in command. Or maybe it was the little girl reaching up for a cuddle. Harry was utterly helpless against her. He crossed the room in three strides and scooped her into his arms. She was the cutest little thing. He'd never quite gotten used to that. Or how _alive_ she was, despite her tininess. She squirmed and wriggled all over, moved every part of her little body at the same time. Harry couldn't ever wrap his head around her perpetual motion. It was mesmerising.

But at that moment all he felt was shame. Had he woken her? Had his feeble attempt at rage control stolen sleep from the tiny infant? A thousand curses on him if it had. He hugged her by way of apology, rocked her gently and hoped she didn't hold his anger against him. She didn't seem to. Actually, she appeared to be purring. It was the most relaxing sound. And she smelled of talc. Harry always found that weirdly comforting.

"Well, I ... of all the things ..."

Hermione had come up to his shoulder, and slipped an arm around him. She was looking at him with the most profound, curious expression. But also the most affectionate one he could imagine. His stomach flipped and rippled as considered what she might be thinking. Or was it what he was thinking? He couldn't process that. His heart might explode at the prospect if he did.

"Alison Longbottom ... angry Harry Potter's calming influence," Enola quipped, joining them and grinning at the scene. She looked at Hermione's arm, curled around Harry's waist without any sign of him protesting at it being there. She knew something profound had gone on between them, Harry could tell that from the knowing glint in her eyes, and the beaming smile on her lips. But she didn't press the point. "She never fails in her job."

"I'm sorry, Enn," Harry mumbled, aghast and disgraced. "If I woke her ..."

"You didn't," said Enola. "I was just putting her down for the night. I was about to tell her a story, actually. She likes to be read to before bed."

Hermione looked over, that curious expression still dancing in her eyes. "Do you ... do you mind if _we_ read to her? I'd quite like a bedtime story myself."

Enola flashed her eyes from Harry to Hermione and back again, smiling knowingly.

"That might be lovely," said Enola. "I've been reading to her about _Zoric the Alien._ The book is just on the nightstand there. It was one of my favourites as a girl. Just remember to leave the aerial light on for her when you're done."

Enola smiled again and slipped from the room. Harry sat in the large rocking chair near the baby's cot and Hermione passed him the book, before sitting cross-legged at Harry's feet. She folded her arms onto Harry's knees and rested her head on them, as he moved baby Alison into a more comfortable cuddling position for her to hear the story. Then Harry began to read.

Hermione tried to listen, to a light tale about giant birds and mice, and a lost alien who made a house from an old teapot with a space-saw that went _buzz,_ but her mind was scrambled. She couldn't bring her raging thoughts under control. They were all at sea. She was intently focusing on the scene, at once a part of it, but watching from afar all at the same time. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine this was another place, another world ...

And another little girl she and Harry might have been cooing to sleep.

Her heart wouldn't stop thudding against her ribs. Harry's voice was soothing, soporific, and Hermione realised with a jolt that he was _good_ at this. A natural, an expert without even trying. Harry had a knack for innate skills, but for some silly reason Hermione had never imagined _this_ to be another one of them. But here it was, right in front of her eyes. She was glad she didn't have to speak, as all the words she knew were lodged in her throat and refusing to budge, lest she voice aloud the wild thoughts chasing each other through her mind just now.

Hermione decided she had to move soon, before her inert desires found life and escaped her chest. Luckily, baby Alison was as lazy as her father and Harry found she had fallen asleep on his thigh. He drew Hermione's frenzied attention silently, and together they moved the sleepy baby down into her crib. Harry tucked a small, stuffed hippogriff into her tiny hands and she clutched at it happily.

Harry looked over at Hermione. Both their hands were on the rim of the cot. Her eyes were aflame without fire. Harry was actually hypnotised by her look, such was its purity. He gulped hard, dearly longing to know what she was thinking, but at the same time he was sure the knowing might scare him silly ... or else kill with him unbridled joy.

"Isn't she _gorgeous_?" Hermione crooned quietly.

"Yeah ... she is," said Harry, who wasn't looking at the baby.

Hermione curled her head to look at him with a shy smile. "You'll make a great father, you know," she said confidently.

Harry swallowed again. "What makes you so sure?"

"I just am," Hermione swooned. "The way you are with this one would be enough. But then it's also how you protect everyone, how fiercely you love. What more could a child want in their dad?"

Harry huffed. "A normal face might be nice. I'll scare any kids I have out of their little minds."

"You don't scare Alison. You wont scare our kids," Hermione retorted on reflex.

She froze, her eyes shooting wide, the echo of her words hanging in the air between them. She looked back to the crib. Harry could see her chest rising and falling as her breathing hitched. Hermione seemed to lack the courage to look at him.

"Would ... I mean ... is that what you might want? I mean ... you know, someday?" Harry asked, cautiously.

Hermione turned to him slowly, as though suspicious her slip hadn't actually made Harry run a mile. She shrugged and smiled so timidly, so adoringly cutely, that Harry actually ached at the sight.

"I didn't, till I came here," Hermione eventually replied. "The world outside isn't fit for children. But, well ... would you?"

"With you I would," Harry replied without ceremony. Hermione gasped and fixed her eyes on him. "Sorry ... too much?"

Hermione moved and hugged him deeply. "No ... nor too soon. Harry ... we are _so_ going to kill Tom Riddle. Do you think he knows how bad it's going to be for him?"

Harry chortled. "I hope not. I want it to be a surprise." They stayed hugging like that for a few minutes longer, neither finding a good enough reason to stop. Until one occurred to Harry. "Come on, it's time we put you to bed."

"Yes ... Dad," Hermione teased. Harry could only grin stupidly at her, before leading her from the room.

* * *

They made their way back downstairs, Harry leaning on Hermione in something of a role reversal. The old damage to her hips, that Harry had absorbed for a while, was a fucking nightmare, truth be told. He may only have had an echo of it left, as a memento from his Healing session with Enola. but he was pretty sure Hermione must have had bone rubbing on bone for the longest time. Harry now carried the residual soreness, and even this was enough to leave him in sever discomfort. 

Luckily, the nursery was directly above Hermione's suite, so they only had to manage the two flights of stairs. Harry looked along the corridor once they'd reached the suite doors. He shifted awkwardly, as he noticed someone had fixed all the damage his temper had brought to the hallway. He would owe so many apologies tomorrow.

But for now, his only focus was on Hermione. Oddly, the very act of her holding open the door to her bedroom suite made Harry's insides do somersaults. Then there was the idea of her leading him to the bed. That was an entirely new sensation that he would have to properly deconstruct later. Tucking her in was just beyond his understanding of life or his vocabulary. It lodged his heart in his throat as he tried to be as delicate as he could with her. And the sweet look in her eyes ... he couldn't even hold her gaze with it. It muted the world for a moment.

Then he was back to task, trying to master his trembling fingers. He conjured a set of quartz crystals with his wand. Each one was pale pink and humming lowly with their own vibrational frequency. Hermione watched with immense curiosity as Harry took each one in turn, held it in the palm of his hand for several minutes and charged it with his intent. Soon they were all throbbing with it.

"What are you doing to them?" Hermione asked breathily. She was bright-eyed and flushed crimson. Harry shrunk back in guilty shame ... for he'd forgotten to subdue that bothersome arousal aspect of his magic again. Hermione was bound to think of him as some sort of pervert if he carried on in this fashion. He wondered if he should apologise.

"Just ... just powering them with a spell ... to pull any negative dreams from you," Harry explained in a small voice, angling his eye away from her

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, sitting up on her elbows in her concern. "Why so timid all of a sudden?"

"Sorry, it's just that ... I know my magic can be ... um ... _stimulating_ , sometimes," Harry muttered. "And in nothing like an appropriate way. I'm sorry, I didn't think to put a dampener on it before I started my casting."

Hermione smiled up at him playfully. "I hope you _always_ forget to do _that_. If that's what you can do by _accident_ , I cant wait to see what it's like when you actually _mean_ it!"

Harry chanced a boyish grin. "You aren't mad at me?"

"Why would I be?" Hermione asked, genuinely surprised.

"Well, what I did was pretty intimate, you might even call it _naughty_ ," Harry reasoned fairly. "You'd have every right to be incensed by the violation."

Hermione laughed beautifully. "Oh, Harry, you and your inane chivalry again! Trust me, sweetheart, nothing you could do could ever _violate_ me ... well, not in a _bad way_ in any case!"

Harry shivered pleasantly under the scorching look Hermione was giving him just then. He swallowed hard under the weight of it.

"So, you were explaining about stealing more of my dreams?" Hermione grinned mischievously.

Harry was glad to be back on solid ground ... all this flirting was _way_ out of his zone of familiarity. "Yeah, I'll pull them from you and they'll be trapped in the crystals. Quartz is good for that."

"How do you know?"

Harry stiffened. "These are mine."

Hermione looked up in wide-eyed shock. "You ... you _use_ these? But why?"

Harry sighed ruefully. "If you'd knew the inside of my mind, you'd want to siphon off some bad imagery before bed, too."

"Oh, _Harry_... but wont you need them to sleep?"

"I'll be alright. Your need is greater," said Harry. "Besides, I'm used to nightmares ... even my _days_ are full of them. Well, except for today. I think _those_ images might actually help me sleep tonight."

Hermione smiled, her eyes sparkling. "If that's all you need ... I'd better kiss you a lot more."

Harry grinned at her. "I'll hold you to that. Here, take this, too."

Harry reached into his robe and drew out a large golden coin on a chain. He gently hung it on the back of Hermione's headboard. She sucked in a breath as she saw it.

"Your DA coin?"

Harry nodded. "It's covered in a layer of citrine. Keeps your mind clear. It will help you drift off."

Hermione frowned at him. "You're giving me all these because you don't intend to sleep tonight, do you?"

Harry chuckled. "It's too soon for you to read me like one of your books. Speaking of which, I haven't shown you round the library yet, have I? I'm sure you'll approve. You inspired it ... and it's _huge_."

"Don't try and distract me," Hermione pouted, ridiculously distracted by the idea of having her own massive library. "Harry ..."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to tuck a stray hair behind Hermione's ear. "Hermione ... I've waited for the longest time for what happened between us this evening. I honestly never thought I'd see this day ... and there's no way I will be able to sleep after getting here. I'm afraid if I sleep I might wake up and find it never happened at all."

Hermione looked so tenderly at him that Harry had to avert his eye. "Is that really the truth?"

"I know of no other way to speak to you," Harry told her earnestly. "Don't be cross. I came back from the afterlife for this night. I want to enjoy it."

"Can't I enjoy it with you?"

Harry smiled. "Next time. I have to be by myself tonight. Find a way to make myself believe this is real. That _we_ are really happening. We _are_ ... aren't we? Tell me I haven't got this wildly confused."

Harry looked suddenly petrified. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his panicked expression. "Of course we are, silly. We can pick a name for whatever we are when we find one that fits."

Harry sighed and relaxed. "Okay. But for now, you need to sleep."

Harry pulled up a chair and drew his wand. Hermione's eyes flashed to it quickly and her whole body began to quiver as she focused on it. Harry saw the look before she could prevent in. A look of unparalled terror swept across the rest of her face ... Harry might as well have pulled a cat-o'nine-tails on her. His entire body shifted in anger at what that meant. He dropped his wand on impulse.

"Hermione ... I ... I'm so sorry ... I didn't think ..."

Hermione let out a strangled breath. "It's not your fault, Harry. I'm sorry ... it's just ..."

Her words tailed off. Harry cautiously moved close and hugged her, whispering soothingly into her hair. "I know _exactly_ what it is. Sssh, it's alright. Everything's going to be alright now ..."

Hermione gasped. Harry knew why. It was the first hug he had initiated and the act had surprised her. Harry found her response a little startling, but exciting at the same time. She didn't resist. She liked Harry hugging her first ... he would have to do this more often.

"Nothing that happened to you was your fault," Harry breathed consolingly. Hermione's own breathing hitched sharply and she spluttered out a sob. Harry hugged her tighter still. "I'll look after you now. You're safe. Nothing will ever hurt you again."

"I know. I trust you, Harry."

"I don't need a wand for this magic," he said. "Just feel my energy. Take it in. It will protect you."

The air of the room was dense as Harry forced his magic to heave out of him. Wandless magic hurt so much. It was sheer agony. Like pushing out acid from every pore. But Hermione needed it, so Harry ground his teeth and bore his self-harm. For what was a bit of pain for Hermione's peace of mind, for her rest? Nothing at all. Harry willed his power out of himself, commanded it to help Hermione, to recognise her as friendly and do as she needed. He didn't know it had worked till he heard her snore into his shoulder some time later.

And as soon as he did, he slid limply from the bed, utterly exhausted.


	13. Harry's Secret Suffering

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry woke in a heap on the cold floor. It was still dark, so he reasoned he couldn't have been splayed there for more than an hour or two. He had slid from the bed and collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, totally spent. His skin was soaked with sweat and, as his magic receded, he knew he wouldn't make it back to his room without aid. He summoned Rhian, made her cast a spell on Hermione for dreamless sleep, then had her whisk him to his own room with no more than the lightest of _pops_. However, it took a little more than light persuasion to get her to leave him be once they were there.

Harry loved his elves, but they could be immensely trying. He did allow Rhian to fetch him a Pepper-up Potion from Cassie's stores, but then insisted he be left to his own recuperation.

Harry checked, re-checked, then checked again that Rhian had actually gone. He even swept a spell over the room to make sure she wasn't just hiding, or making herself invisible. She was apt to resorting to such sly tricks to keep an eye on her stubborn Master. When he was satisfied that he was quite alone, he locked the door to his top-floor suite with the most powerful spell he could muster and moved into his bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was the picture of Hermione on his nightstand. It was from the day of Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding. Harry had coaxed Neville to get Ernie MacMillan to 'acquire' a picture of Hermione for him, without raising too many suspicions. In hindsight, it probably raised every red flag there was.

He never asked how he actually got it, but Harry didn't care. He had the picture and that was all that mattered. And Hermione looked so shockingly beautiful in it that all Harry had to do was glance at the picture for his mood to improve. Every time he did, he tried to unravel the mystery of why he hadn't been so mesmerised by her that day, when he was actually there with her in the flesh. Why it had taken him so long, and a near-death experience, to fully appreciate just how beautiful a girl Hermione Granger truly was?

Harry knew the reason was distinctly Weasley-shaped.

But he didn't want to dwell on that. He'd broken enough things on their account for one night. So he dwelt on the picture instead, let his eyes linger on Hermione's slender form a little longer than he'd normally permit. The moving photo was the one indulgence he'd allowed himself for the past few years, but he didn't want to besmirch it by taking liberties with the time he was consented to look.

Her dress that day had been cut to form, and it accentuated all of her womanly loveliness. Harry feasted on her image, got lost in it, but he had to remember how to breathe. He recalled Dumbledore once telling him how men had wasted away before the Mirror of Erised. He could certainly relate to the concept now, could certainly imagine wasting away before this moving vision of elegant beauty before him.

Then she did something she'd never done before ... and _blew him a kiss_.

Harry was so taken aback by the action that if anyone had happened upon him they might have thought he'd been hit by Petrificus Totalus. Hermione's picture always acted the same way ... she waved at him, smiled, perhaps gave a twirl or a curtsey to show off her dress. But she had _never_ blown kisses. Why had the picture changed? Harry was deeply fascinated by it. It brought a speeding thrum to his pulse and warmed his chest. It was the most insanely cute thing he could imagine.

Then his chest ached for an entirely different reason, and he remembered why he'd dismissed Rhian so firmly. He didn't know which of Ron's blows had caused this particular injury to Hermione, but a hairline fracture to the sternum more than hinted at the severity of the assault. Harry scowled at the thought. Then he gave Hermione's picture one last, slightly bewildered, look and crossed the room to the ornate bookcase in the corner.

Harry checked that he was alone one more time, out of habit. He reached up to the third book from the right, on the second shelf down, and gave it a tug. Then he stepped back as the bookcase swung away from the wall to reveal a hidden room. Harry limped inside and pulled the bookcase-door closed behind him.

The room was small and perfectly circular. It was dimly lit; dust swirled in the air disturbed by the opening door, making it seem like the whole place was suffused with a soft, milky mist. There was no sound. Harry stepped forward and shed his robe, tossing it onto a rail that was off to one side. He shivered as the first draught of cool air licked his bare skin.

"A bit of fire please, Lily. It's _freezing_ in here."

The phoenix emerged in a gout of flame, which ignited a fire pit sunk into the heart of the room. Harry closed his eye as the heat washed over his flesh like a renewing tide. Lily fluttered to a golden perch near Harry, and trilled in contentment as he scratched her head. Harry completely disrobed and moved to the firepit, where he began drawing hot water into the deep bathtub that arched over it.

Next to the bath, a large, elaborately decorated cabinet stood stark as the only other piece of furnishing in the room. Harry tapped the doors of it, which eased open to reveal a collection of antique equipment, beautifully preserved and infused with a deep power that Harry felt rumble in his very bones.

They were powerful because they'd once belonged to Nicolas Flamel, the famous alchemist and former working partner of Albus Dumbledore. Harry had _acquired_ them in a game of poker, played in a seedy, backstreet Paris revue bar. Harry hadn't exactly played fair. But he'd hunted all over Europe for this set of items, and he wasn't about to let some gnarled old Norwegian warlock hold onto some of the most powerful magical relics in the world just for the sake of his conscience, now was he?

Not when he had such a greater use in mind for them.

There was a still, an alembic, an athanor. The tools of the Master Alchemist, and shelves that groaned under the weight of the fruit born by the labour of this most difficult art.

Harry wasn't quite the Master he wanted to be just yet. He hadn't been studying alchemy for nearly long enough to make that claim. But he was pretty efficient as it was. And so he should be ... it was his _real_ birthright after all. He was a Potter, a Master of Fire, the ultimate transmuting substance. He hadn't quite managed the feat of turning lead all the way to gold just yet, and the creation of a Philosopher's Stone was a lifetime away, but he had a small quantity of silver as proof of his burgeoning skill.

Alchemical Quicksilver ... a powerful substance he intended to use to forge Hermione's engagement ring.

The thought made him grin stupidly to himself. He put the thought away for now, and reached into the cabinet for a vial of silvery-grey liquid. _Mercurial Water_ , a by-product of the Albedo Stage of the alchemical process. It was good for soothing deep wounds, but only of the person who created it, which in this case was himself. He would have given his entire supply if it might have helped Hermione, but it wouldn't have had any greater effect on her than the average bubble bath. He didn't have much of it left anyway.

"Going to have to get brewing soon," he said to Lily, before tipping the contents of the vial into the bath. The water turned a pearly sort of champagne colour. "The next full moon is in a few days. I think you and I had better make it a date night. I hope you'll share your tears with me."

Lily sang out her affirmation. Then she continued to trill.

Harry considered her song thoughtfully. "No, I think it's a bit early to involve her in this. One thing at a time, eh?"

Lily sang again, more crossly this time.

"Hey, don't get sassy with me," Harry nipped lightly, frowning at her. "Give the poor girl a break. She has enough to acclimatise to as it is. Give her time to adjust, wont you?"

Lily mewled sadly for a minute.

"I know, and I'm glad you like her," Harry replied, slipping into the bath. "I like her too. A lot. But I still have to be patient with her. You can go to her whenever you want. I don't mind, and I'm sure Hermione wont either. She's quite taken with you, in case you hadn't noticed."

Lily hopped up and down on her perch happily, her notes returning to something far more lyrical.

"Of course I know how lovely she is, and how powerful," Harry replied to her in agreement. "I think she'll be crucial to our completion of the Opus. We can donate the gold, but I think the Elixir might be the only substance powerful enough to cleanse her of those mental scars. They run so deep, Lil ... I just can't stand to think of her carrying that around every day."

Harry sank into the depths of his bath water, the alchemical solution immediately targeting his aching wounds. He moaned throatily as the pain eased. Lily began a new aria, one that was just for Harry. He opened his magic and absorbed it, letting Lily's healing force sweep through him.

"Thank you," he croaked. She hissed at him, as though insulted that he felt the need to thank her for something she did for him so naturally, so willingly. "I'm sorry. Come here."

The phoenix stomped her talons and squawked crossly at him.

"Lily ... stop pouting and come _here_."

The phoenix gave in to Harry's gentle chiding and soared over to him, perching herself on his shoulder. He smoothed her feathers to pacify her.

"You know, being a diva is quite unbecoming," Harry teased with a smirk. Lily barked at him again. It might have masked a swear word or two. Harry chuckled at her. "So, have I been formally replaced as your most favourite person?"

Lily didn't reply.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. It's okay. I forgive you. She's my favourite person, too."

Lily nipped him affectionately on the ear.

"Will you watch over her for me tonight? Rhian's spells are powerful, but I'd be happier knowing she had company."

One flash of fire later and Harry was quite alone again. That's when he curled down into the bath, cradled into himself and let out all his hurt.

And it was enough to reduce him to tears.

Hermione's stolen pains aside, the effort of his wandless magic earlier just an added extra, Harry's own personal wounds were far beyond repair. His scars were just the surface evidence. He had been hit with the Darkest Magic in creation. The Killing Curse. Not one for the good or faint-hearted. It had struck him twice, coursed through his being and attempted to deprive him of life. Failure or not, that had left an indelible mark on him.

He hurt. All the time. All over, inside and out. He wasn't supposed to have survived those curses. No-one was. The partial-immunity his parents had given him to Tom Riddle's magic was well intentioned, but nothing could eradicate the effects of the world's most evil spell. Harry had survived, but he was scarred by the experience. And the ones on his face were nothing to the ones he suffered with inside.

It was only Enola's potent spellwork that kept him sane, that reduced the black burning in his veins to background noise. She hadn't healed him, but she'd made his body avoid facing the pain, or as much of it as she could. Her _Magic of Ignorance_ , as they'd come to dub it. If Harry didn't allow his body to know it was in pain, he wouldn't have to suffer so much from the feeling of it. It was a patch-up job, it would get him through the day.

Then at night, when no-one was watching, he could let out his hurt in secret.

This was the chamber he designed for just the purpose. His workshop, hermetically sealed, hidden from the rest of the palace. Only Lily even knew the room existed besides Harry. He made a habit of disappearing, so when he felt the need to dive in here and let out his anguish he wouldn't be questioned. It was a useful disguise.

And tonight his need was great. He unplugged the bath with his toes. The last thing he wanted on the day he kissed Hermione was to go and drown himself in the healing waters. The warm liquid sped away, leaving Harry damp and shivery on the bottom of the vast tub. Hugged up in the foetal position, powerless against the waves of searing pain flooding through him, he would just have to ride it out, as he'd done countless times before. Harry took a steadying breath and closed his eye.

He was in for a long night.

* * *

It was past noon when Hermione finally rose the next day. She felt obscenely relaxed. But there was guilt with that, for sleeping so well, when Harry had forfeited his own so that she might get a restful night. She was eminently grateful for his kindness. She would have to tell him so later.

And it had definitely earned him a kiss or two.

Hermione was half wild just thinking about that. She was now able to _kiss_ Harry, as often and as much as she wanted. Which was a _lot._ It was just the most incredible thing. She hadn't coveted such affections for the longest time, and thankfully Ron had stopped forcing kisses from her after the first year of their sham marriage, so she hadn't had to endure them from him. It was a small blessing for her, to have been spared that particular intimate contact with her despised spouse.

But now, Hermione was just madly excited about the very idea of kissing. When she was younger, she often kissed the back of her fist and pretended that it was _Harry_ she was smooching instead. It was honestly as close as she thought she'd ever get to the real thing. Now, she clenched that same fist into the folds of her fluffy quilt, attempted to accept a world in which kissing Harry was normal, then fought with the urge to scream out in joy as this amazing notion consumed her. It was bouncing around her heart like a manic pinball.

Kissing Harry wasn't _normal_. Hermione couldn't call it that yet. It was simply too monumental for it to be so easily compartmentalised. But it _was_ the most satisfying kind of surreal that Hermione could possibly imagine.

She wondered where Harry was right now. Her mind trained on that spot in the world that he might be just then. And she wondered if he was thinking about her. She almost squeaked at the thought, her mind racing a mile a minute at the possibilities _that_ threw up. She smiled broadly to herself and hoped he'd come to see her first when he got back.

For she knew he wasn't home. There was just something about the air of the palace, a sedateness in that hum of ever-present energy that Hermione was slowly starting to become so familiar with. When Harry was around, it felt different. Warmer somehow, charged with a different vibration. She felt its comfort in her very veins. When Harry was home, there was just this unmistakable sense of wholeness about the place.

Hermione thrilled wildly at that idea, too. _Home_. This was her home now. And not in some vague sense, either. This whole palace was _hers_ or, one day, it might _become_ hers. Harry might offer it to her as a _wedding present_ , which was an idea that turned Hermione's powerful brain into soppy jelly as it bounced around inside her skull. She'd be able to call the beautiful gardens and rooms her own, become as familiar with them as she was Hogwarts, or her childhood house. Her home or, more precisely, _her and Harry's home_. That was a thought she couldn't keep still in her mind for very long.

And the idea that they might raise their children here someday just flipped Hermione over the wondrous edge.

She wanted to dance with the joy of it, which was bizarre in itself, as she was never one for dancing. So instead she just curled her toes inside her socks, rocked onto the balls of her feet and tried to contain these waves of unbridled elation pulsing through her skin. She didn't know what she was supposed to do with such emotions. She wasn't used to them. She had no idea how she was meant to cope feeling like this ... feeling so ridiculously _happy_. It was actually making her a little giddy.

So she just jumped up out of bed, flopped her head onto her hands as she perched on her favourite windowsill, and marvelled at the morning outside. Everything was sitting pretty on her just then.

She drank in the elegant beauty of the gardens, dappled in beaming sunshine. Several elves were tending vines and pruning the hedgerows. Hermione watched them awhile, revelling in their work, taking the utmost care with Harry's plants and flowers. _With our plants and flowers,_ Hermione's heart whispered to her. She flushed madly and shook her head in wonder at the notion. She looked further out, and saw the trellises of the Mausoleum, gilded by the morning sun. And the memories of the previous night suddenly raced to the tip of Hermione's mind.

She was still rattled by the way Harry had kissed her. It was beyond passionate. But there had been something nervous and needy there, too. Understandable, really, considering how he'd built up this silly idea that she was going to react so badly to him. She wondered how long it would be before he would drop these irrational fears. Ages, probably. That didn't matter so much, not if her kisses were the only tonic he needed. She had plenty of those in store for him.

And, just like that, her addiction for Harry struck Hermione like a playful blow to the head. He'd been away from her for far too long, and gone somewhere without telling her. He wasn't allowed to do that anymore, she decided there and then. Hermione frowned crossly at Harry's misbehaviour.

She left the window and crossed her bedroom. It was still something to be able to move without discomfort. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt. Liberating, but taken for granted. Harry was so wonderful for doing what he did.

Poor, wounded, silly, lovely Harry! Hermione didn't know what she'd done, to deserve to be so adored by him, but she was deeply thankful for it, whatever it might be. She should offer to take some of his pain in return. But that was a laughable notion, for Harry only ever gave of himself, never took from others. Unless that taking would be for their benefit.

A benefit Hermione was revelling in now.

She felt unspeakably lucky in that moment. It was an odd sensation, one distinctly alien. Luck had been something that she was sure had abandoned her on that fateful May night at Hogwarts, surrounded by corpses and their killers. She retained a shred of hope for the next twelve months, until the cleansing of the magical world hit full speed. Then that shred became a speck on her wedding day ... when not a single person had offered up an objection to her marriage to Ron, when she, herself, had so many. She could have lent someone one for the day. But no-one stepped forward and that ring, one size too small, was jammed painfully onto her finger, condemning her to years of misery and abuse.

It hadn't started right away, not the physical side anyway. But Ron always had been rather adept at _psychological_ torture ... it was just built-in to his nature it seemed. He displayed this skill flagrantly during their school years, constantly putting Hermione down and belittling her. Hermione only truly recognised that now, in this haven away from it, with Harry as her immovable defender from Ron's attacks. A role, she also accepted, he'd always fulfilled, if not quite so vitriolically as he did now. He'd always been there for support, to build her up when Ron tore her down. Vaunting her qualities, championing her to anyone who might need to know. She remembered Horace Slughorn telling her once how Harry had gushed about her when they'd met. There was no reason for him to, Hermione recalled thinking at the time, so she hadn't really believed it when Slughorn told her.

But, oh, how she wished she had now! Things might have turned out so very differently. Hermione might have been there at Harry's side when he viewed Snape's memories, his ever-faithful partner, the voice of his reason, able to dissuade him from following Dumbledore's ludicrous instructions ... and they might not have suffered as they had.

But suffer she did. Ron's 'courtship', such as it was, had been founded on lies and deceit. He pursued her under the guise of protection, claiming his intentions were to keep her out of the hands of Voldemort's Agencies, ones tasked with the purification of Magical Britain. Hermione could never have guessed he was actually part of those same evil forces. Seduced by promises, drunk on dominance of the weak, enriched by stolen gold and wealth. Finally, he was _someone_ , no matter how dark the actions were that made him so. It wasn't something he was likely to give up in a hurry.

And it was only a matter of time before Hermione's protests led to him putting her in her place. Violently so. And that hated ring on her finger made the whole thing _legal_.

Hermione looked down at it, still cruelly glued just above her knuckle. She pulled angrily at it, as she had done so many times before. But it was fruitless. The thing was stuck by magic, only removable once the marriage was officially over. It was a constant reminder of her connection to Ron, his control over her. The thought drained all colour from her face.

"Sally!"

The elf popped into view. "Lady Hermione?" she asked, her voice concerned at Hermione's panicked tone. "What be wrong?"

"Where's Harry?"

"Master Harry not be home," Sally replied.

"I know _that_ ," said Hermione, a little impatiently. "But do you know where he is?"

Sally shook her head, making her ears slap noisily against her cheeks. "No, Lady Hermione. Master Harry not be telling Sally such things. Sally thinks he must be gone somewhere dangerous, though."

Hermione felt her heart stumble a moment. "Dangerous? What makes you say that?"

"Missesses Angharad and Myfanwy slip out after Master Harry this morning," said Sally. "If they all gone together, it be for something dangerous. If they _following_ him, it be even more dangerous. Master Harry always be doing the most dangerous things by himself, without telling anyone. So the girls be having to stalk him."

Hermione gasped. Harry in danger? It was the most abhorrent idea. She knew he could look after himself, but now, after last night, things had irrevocably changed for her. Hermione found this the most frightening concept imaginable. She got up and began to pace, pulling at her dressing gown in anguished frustration.

"Master Harry be alright," said Sally confidently. "Lady Hermione need not worry."

"How can I not worry!" Hermione shrieked. "I need him and he's going to get himself killed!"

"Lady Hermione! Sally insist you calm yourself. Do you need Calming Draught? Sally can fetch ..."

"I don't need any drugged potions!" Hermione yelped. "I need Harry!"

"Master Harry will come back to his favouritest witch," said Sally calmly. Hermione was stilled slightly. "Master Harry love his Lady too much to want her to worry."

Hermione stopped completely and stared at Sally. It was the first time she'd ever described Harry's feelings for her as _love_. It dissolved all her frustrations, but made her heart drum under her ribs in a different sort of fashion. It may have dispelled all her latent anguish, but did turn her a nice sunburnt-style shade of crimson into the bargain.

Hermione flopped back down in her chair. "I just wish he'd tell me where he goes."

"Lady Hermione be asking too much, just now to be sure," said Sally, sagely. "Master Harry used to being alone, going solo. It be new for him, to have his Lady here to worry about him. But he learn in time. Maybe not _change_ , but he learn. He still just a man, need to _learn_ how to learn. Lady Hermione need not worry ... Master Harry be a total arse-kicker. He be fine. But what you need him for?"

 _What don't I need him for?_ Hermione thought, a little wildly. This obsession with him was becoming dangerously like a dependency.

"I just have some concerns about my safety," said Hermione. "I want to ask Harry something about the palace protections."

"I fetch Lady Longbottom," said Sally. "She know all about it. She stop yous worries."

And, without brooking any opposition, she popped away. Hermione shook her head and chuckled at her funny little helper.

In the silence, Hermione resolved to master her worries, as Harry did. She crossed to the bed and took the quartz crystals he'd given her in her hand. Their resonance had faded slightly since last night. When Harry had first placed them around her bed, she'd felt their combined buzz like the thrum of a jet engine. Now, their energy was just a ripple, licking at her own essence like a sleepy kitten.

Hermione had noticed that lately, how her energy was engaging with the world around her more. This, she supposed, was a result of being exposed to ritual magic for the first time. She was just more acutely aware of external energies now, and the understanding of them was growing more pronounced every day. It was an utterly fascinating new experience.

Hermione studied the crystals. The great academian in her was enthused by the challenge of finding out how they worked. She closed her eyes, as she'd seen Harry do, tried to focus on that subtle wave of energy that they were emitting. She could almost grab it, but it was tantalisingly beyond her reach. It was like trying to catch a cloud with her fingertips. She looked at the crystals again. Pale pink for the most part, but every now and then, a shot of black passed over them. And every time they did, Hermione felt a tinge of shock in her chest.

And, as if on instinct, she knew what those dark masses were.

These were _Harry's_ healing crystals. This is where he trapped his nightmares, his fears, held fast till a time he felt strong enough to face them. Those dark shapes could be anything - his doubt, his self-loathing for his scar, his hatred for his enemies. All held in these prisms of stone. Hermione suddenly appreciated a whole new depth to Harry's intense life. He had such horrors in it, they were beyond his control in the conventional sense. So he had turned to ancient powers, old forms of magic ... runes and totems, ritual and ceremony ... all so that he might get through another day with his mind intact. Hermione's heart bled at the very notion that Harry needed to take such measures just to cope.

And these crystals were yet another part of it. Harry was innately tuned to them, Hermione was certain of that. They _felt_ like him, or perhaps _of him_ , would be a better way to describe it. Hermione was confident that, if she was given them randomly, she would be able to sense his signature within them. It was akin to his scent, or that ephemeral sense of his presence that Hermione found so intoxicating now. She just _felt_ him, in everything he influenced.

In much the same way, Hermione reasoned, that Harry knew which Horcruxes were real, living pieces of Voldemort's fractured soul and which ones were fake decoys.

The thought startled her. She had been awestruck by Harry's immediate recognition of the signature on the Horcrux made from poor Minerva McGonagall, and how he understood so swiftly that it wasn't one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. But now, sat here with Harry's crystals in her hand, Hermione felt that she might have that power, too. She was beyond modesty as she considered it. Did that mean she might be able to do all the ridiculously impressive things that Harry could do? Did she have it in her to be as powerful and masterful as he? Would that ... would it make her his _equal_? A partner worthy of him?

By Merlin she thought it might!

Hermione laughed at that and felt a lot calmer. It was an odd reaction, she thought, but the joy of the notion had simply exploded out of her. The door to the suite opened just then and Enola came in with Sally. She was carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. Hermione noticed they belonged to one of her outfits, a silk blouse and jeans combo, but Enola was making alterations to them. There were strips of scaly hide being sewn into the linings of both garments. And the hem of the jeans was glowing under the influence of powerful runes, which had been pressed into the fabric.

"Sally said you needed me," said Enola, depositing the clothes onto Hermione's vanity table and joining her on the bed. "What's wrong? Sally made it sound like you were having some sort of panic attack."

Hermione laughed again. "Oh, no, it was nothing like that. I was just a little concerned about this disgusting wedding ring that I can't seem to remove."

Enola grinned at her. "Thinking you might need a replacement soon, eh?"

Hermione froze, startled. "I ... er ... well, no ... that's not what I meant at all ..."

Enola barked out a laugh as Hermione flushed scarlet. "Oh, _come on,_ Min! No need to act so coy. I was watching you and Harry last night with my baby. Literally, I thought the room was going to _melt_. I could feel Harry's happiness half the floor away. It was quite lovely, but just you remember our little deal."

"What deal?"

"The one where you give me a heads up before you shag him," Enola hooted out. Sally giggled next to them. "Aside from the fact that I don't want my baby caught up in the inferno ... which will _so_ happen the moment you two get your hands on each other properly ... us girls have a little wager going for how long it will be till you do it. I could use the extra money, I'm not going to lie!"

Hermione laughed again and stopped fighting her blush. "I'll do my best. But I have a feeling it will just be a spontaneous thing. And I don't intend to stop in the throes of it to give you a blow-by-blow update."

"Well ... perhaps that's a little more _detail_ than I need ..." Enola grinned suggestively.

"Ennie!" Hermione admonished playfully. "Must you be so _rude?!"_

"Okay, okay," Enola conceded, grinning cheekily. "But you've _got_ to tell me ... what happened last night? Something's gone on with you and Harry, I could tell. I don't often see him _floating_ , you know."

"Nothing happened," Hermione replied, coyly. She wasn't sure if Harry wanted it announced that they had come to an understanding finally. Besides, she sort of liked it being something they only knew between themselves ... she didn't know if she wanted to share it herself just yet.

"Don't give me that!" Enola cajoled. "Come on, I can keep a secret."

Hermione laughed at that. "I have heard tell that secret-keeping isn't actually that high on your skill set!"

Enola's porcelain cheeks coloured a little. "Okay, maybe I _can't_. But I _know_ this isn't a secret _you_ want to keep for very long. So, come on ... out with it. Did he kiss you?"

"Actually, I was the one who kissed _him!"_ Hermione grinned crazily.

Enola whooped loudly and fell backwards onto the bed, kicking her heels in her excitement. "I _knew_ it! I told Nev so and everything! What was it like? Hot as hell, I bet."

"Oh yeah!" Hermione swooned. "I started it, trying to be careful, but then Harry threw me to the ground, jumped on top of me and kissed me like it was going out of fashion! Took my breath away. But then I accidentally stuck a nail into his scar ... and it kind of ruined the mood!"

"Ouch!" Enola winced with an exaggerated grimace. "Was he okay?"

"More annoyed that I'd stopped kissing him than anything else," Hermione laughed. "But it gave us a chance to take stock, to settle things between us."

"So ... are you _together_ now?"

Hermione's eyes span and sparkled at the very notion. She beamed more radiantly than she ever had before as she nodded the affirmative. "I think we can say that, yes."

Enola whooped again and swept down on Hermione, giving her a deep, affectionate hug. "I'm so happy for you ... for the _both_ of you. This is just the _best_ news!"

"Thank you. But can you _try_ and keep it to yourself, at least until I've told Harry that I've spoken to you? I know it wont stay a secret for very long."

"You can count on my discretion," Enola vowed faithfully. "But if Harry making an honest woman out of you soon _isn't_ the reason that Sally came to fetch me, what's the issue with the ring?"

Hermione offered her the offending hand. "It just occurred to me earlier that this still connects me to Ron. It will till we divorce or he dies. Hopefully the latter. But, I was thinking ... it means he can track me, doesn't it? The Marriage Bond allows him to know where I am at all times, if he wants to, especially since the Reforms. If he finds me here ... if I'm the one who brings danger to this place ... if I put you at risk ... or Alison ... or Harry ..."

Enola held up her hand to still Hermione mid-rant. "Min, Min ... slow down ... _ssshhh!_ We are quite safe here. Don't you remember what my Nev told you when you first arrived? Harry protected this place with ancient Celtic magic, in a Welsh runic dialect that is inherent to his own family. No-one, not Ron, not Riddle, not the Muggle Child Support Agency would be able to find you here. Harry's magic has made this place, for all intents and purposes, off the map. You might as well be on the Moon for all the chance there is of you being found."

Hermione viscerally relaxed. Then she quelled again. "But what about if I leave the boundary? Wont the tracking charm be activated?"

"Probably, if Ron is even looking," said Enola, blithely. "But that's why I'm making some alterations to an outfit for you."

She nodded at the pile of garments heaped on the table nearby.

"Ennie ... what _are_ you doing to those clothes?" Hermione asked, eyebrow raised.

"Preparing them," Enola replied briskly, moving herself back to Hermione's vanity table.

"Preparing them for _what_?" Hermione queried.

"For _you_. Harry tells me you are going to leave the wards tonight," said Enola. "I don't want you to go, Min, I'll be honest. I don't think you're anything _like_ ready. But I also know you're as stubborn as a hippogriff with an attitude complex. So I'm armouring up some of your clothes for battle. There's a nice pair of Thestral-hide gloves in there. Useful material that ... it can be manipulated to make things visible only under the right conditions, or only to the right people. It will mask the spell on that bothersome piece of tin on your finger. Please, will you wear them for me? It'll give me such peace of mind."

Hermione shivered involuntarily. Enola's worry was quite sincere and Hermione felt a sudden burst of tender affection for her new friend. But it made the situation that much more real and serious. Hermione felt the air thicken and congeal around them, become charged as if before a thunderstorm. It settled heavily on her chest.

"I ... I'll be okay. I'll be with Harry," Hermione stammered. Her words were framed almost as a question.

"He can't have eyes everywhere," Enola pointed out, fearfully. "And he's a bit _stunted_ in that department as it is. Just do this for me. If you got hit by a stray curse ... I don't know what I'd do."

Hermione was touched. She couldn't help but be. She had only known Enola a few weeks but she had grown very fond of her. It was warming to know the sentiment was returned.

"I'll be careful," Hermione promised. "Harry needs me."

"Far more than you know," said Enola. There was something undeniably cryptic in her tone. "If anything were to happen to you, I don't know how he'd cope. Just do me a favour and wear these clothes. And, for Merlin's sake, stay close to Harry when you're out there. Don't separate ... for any reason."

"We wont."

"And I mean that long-term, too," said Enola, grinning weakly. Hermione blushed.

"I'm serious," Enola went on. "About all of it. Don't separate now you are together. Harry's never had a happy glint in his eye before. But I didn't realise how much it suited him till I saw it there. Till _you_ put it there. But when he takes you out later, don't leave his side. You'll be safe as long as you're next to him."

"I'll stay close, I promise," said Hermione faithfully. "But En, if anyone bad shows up ... how will Harry expect me to fight? How _should_ I fight? I mean, have you?"

"Fought? Yeah, I've fought plenty of times," said Enola simply. "I was part of a triumvirate of Acolyte Warriors with Fan and Ann, till Alison came along. I killed with them, defended our coven and then our Order, and then Harry. As for how _you_ should fight ... well, that's something only you can decide."

"And what are my criteria?"

Enola put down her sewing with a patient air. "Min ... this is a war, not some silly duelling club, or something. Harry probably wont want you to see the warrior side of him. It's his darkest face. If you run into trouble, he'll kill indiscriminately to protect you. Wont even bat an eyelid doing it. Then he'll face the impact of that later. But he wont Disarm. He isn't looking to subdue or take prisoners, to Stun someone only for them to come back and fight again. He'll put them down, either for good, or so damaged that they aren't a threat anymore. But ... and I don't say this to be a burden for you ... if _you_ are directly threatened, then the one responsible wont live long enough to regret doing so.

"But Harry is acclimatised to that. Experienced at it. _You_ aren't. Only you can decide what your conscience can take."

Hermione considered that a moment. She was angry with all that had happened to her, and she'd talked hotly about getting vengeance, a reckoning with her torturers. But now that she was on the cusp of it, she hesitated. Could she do it, or live with herself if she did? Could she hurt, maim ... _kill_ , if it came to it? If Harry was hurt, his back turned, blindsided, double-teamed ... what would she do? How would she react?

The answer came to her with shuddering force. It made her rile at herself that she was ever in doubt. It was blindingly obvious. She would rip a fucking hole in the world, or shatter time itself, if it meant protecting _Harry_. And she would do it with a smile on her face, then piss on her enemies' ashes as they burned.

Enola saw the answer in Hermione's eyes, and her own glinted maliciously in like-minded reflection. "I miss the fighting, I really do. Harry always favoured Blasting Curses, Slicing Hexes ... things that did vicious damage to limbs and flesh. He developed this version of the Incendio Spell, where his wand sends out a chain of fireballs so hot that they literally burn through anything they touch. That's a sight to see."

"Wow," said Hermione.

"Just remember this," Enola went on. "When Harry knew you were in danger from Malfoy, he literally lost his shit. And I _mean_ lost it. That display of rage last night was _nothing_ compared to how he was then. I was terrified of Harry _that_ night. I don't know what he did to Malfoy and his minions when he caught up to them, but there were _nine_ of them at the start. Neville said less than half left your flat alive. And none of them were _whole_. But Harry did more damage to _himself_ in his fury, than any of the Death Eaters did to him. Nev told me ..."

Enola tailed off. She'd said too much, her guilty expression betrayed that. But the words were out.

"Neville told you what?" Hermione pressed. Enola wrung her hands and looked pained. "Ennie ..."

"Harry ... sort of ... _went wild_... against _himself_ ," said Enola, her expression avoidant. "He was so upset that you were almost hurt ... so convinced that he'd failed you again ... that he ... well, he took his guilty rage out on himself."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in horror. "What do you mean? Are you saying he _harme_ _d himself_?"

"I don't know, exactly," Enola mumbled quietly. "That's the truth. Neville never told me the whole story. All he said was that Harry used his magic to trap himself in a cage, b-before letting out his anger, as a punishment. It only stopped when he lost consciousness through ... through the blood loss. That night when Lily brought you to us, when I said Harry needed immediate healing? Do you remember? Well, _somehow_ , Harry gave those injuries to _himself_."

Hermione let out a shocked sob. Tears followed quickly. Her poor _Harry!_ Why would he do such terrible harm to himself? Over her, no less. The panic drove her mindless a moment, as she tried to picture it. Or _not_ picture it, as it wasn't an image she wanted anywhere near her mind. She knew Harry hurt enough as it was ... she hated to think how deep this rabbit-hole went. Enola hurried over to her, drawing her into a comforting hug.

"There's more I don't know, isn't there?" Hermione sniffed. "Things he isn't telling me?"

Enola didn't reply, but the way her body tensed was answer enough.

"How bad is it?" Hermione demanded.

Enola sighed. "Whatever the worst is that you can imagine, it's worse even than that ... by a matter of degrees. That's why I'm dead serious about not separating. You are the best thing that I've ever seen happen to Harry in all the time I've known him. He smiles through the pain, maybe even forgets it or doesn't feel it at all. If he _can_ ever be healed, it will be something beyond _my_ skill ... and all about something _you_ do for him. You make him better in a way I never can. He is so much improved already. Please, don't stop ... whatever it is that you're doing for him."

"I wont, I promise," Hermione croaked.

"And don't think badly of Harry for acting darkly in battle," Enola added. "For he _is_ dark in that environment. It's all for you, but try not to hold his actions against him if it shocks you."

Hermione sat up and scoffed angrily. "I will _never_ think badly of Harry. Not ever ... not for anything. But _you_ are going to tell me everything about Harry's internal darkness, including this mindscape you created together. This isn't a request, either. Harry might not want you to tell me, might not let me in willingly, but I _will_ go there and fight his demons for him, whether either of you like it or not. So _you will_ tell me what I need to know to do it."

Enola smiled bracingly. "His Queen ... through and through. I could never have dreamt you more worthy of him, Hermione. I'll do as you ask, when the time is right. I so approve of you, do you know?"

Hermione smiled back warmly. "I like you too, Enola. Now, let's get back to preparing my outfit ... I have a wounded man to protect tonight."


	14. The Church of the Dark Mark

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

They were ready at eight o'clock. Harry knocked on Hermione's door and she opened to him. She looked like she wanted to hug the life out of him. Something had happened, or she knew something she hadn't last time they met. Harry could tell that, and he didn't like the pained, slightly desperate look in her eyes. It wasn't much better than the fear he expected to see there, for where they were about to go ... or maybe it was just a different sort of bad.

"What is it?" Harry asked, guiding Hermione back into the room. They would have to deal with this first. It wouldn't do to be so distracted out in the dangerous world.

"It's nothing," said Hermione, evasively.

"You're lying to me," Harry retorted, genuinely surprised.

"No, not lying," said Hermione. "Just avoiding the truth."

"Hermione ..."

She suddenly flung her arms around him, knocking the wind from his lungs. "Oh, _Harry ..._ what have you been doing to yourself!?"

"Breathing ... before this," he huffed, easing her away from him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing ... it's just that ... Enola has been telling me about things ... about those dark things that you carry around in your mind," Hermione whined, pulling Harry back to her.

"Oh she _has_ , has she?" Harry scythed, his ire stirring. "What exactly has she been saying?"

"Nothing I didn't force from her," said Hermione, firmly. "You can't be angry with her. I wont let you be."

"And since when do you get to dictate to me?"

"Since we fell in love and you gave me that power. I give it to you in return. Just saying."

Harry's heart hammered in his throat and he almost fell apart at the declaration. It was the first time it had been phrased so succinctly. He couldn't stop picturing the words, or do anything to resist the grin they spawned.

"Oh, well ... since you put it _that way,_ " he teased, eventually. "It really isn't fair that you can calm me so easily. I'm supposed to be mad at Enola over here."

"Save it for the Death Eaters," said Hermione, darkly. "I am."

"And what are you mad at, dare I ask?"

"You!" she squealed. "For holding so much darkness inside and not letting me help you fight it! I'm going to, you know, no matter what you do to try and stop me. It wont work. You aren't alone anymore, Harry, you do know that yeah? _We_ aren't alone anymore. Me and you ... we're _one_ now. Your fight is my fight, your darknesses are _my_ darknesses. And vice-versa. But you're still holding me at arms length. Stop it. Let me _in._ "

Harry couldn't prevent a laugh. "You're so bossy. I forgot how much. Or how cute it is. Adorable, actually."

"Don't change the subject," said Hermione. "I'm serious."

"So am I," Harry replied. "You really are cute."

"Harry ..."

"What do you want me to say?" asked Harry, exasperated. "I'm a mess. I've not made any secret of that."

"Then let me help tidy you up!" Hermione cried. "I need you to help me get over _my thing_ s. Let me help you just the same."

Harry learned in and hugged her. She curled her arms around him, too. "You already are," Harry whispered. "But it's hard for me to keep all this in as it is. I can't just open it all up. It's too volatile. Give me time ... I have to do it my way."

"Just as long as I'm part of that way," said Hermione, snuggling into his shoulder.

"More than you can possibly know," said Harry. With a huge effort, he moved away from her embrace. "But there are other parts, too. And Luna is a key one. So, if you're ready ... it's time to go."

Harry stood and offered Hermione his hand. They moved through the house. It was eerily quiet, as if on edge. Harry felt his own emotions bouncing back at him from the walls. He didn't want Hermione coming with him, that was the truth. The danger he was putting her in was frightfully reckless. But she had been insistent. He could sense her own concern now and Harry resolved to be stronger for her. He commanded his mind to ignore the pain in his legs, to mask the limp that had developed there.

Hermione looked good in her battle clothes, primed and powerful. The runes in the linings were responding to her magic. Enola's mother was so good at creating just the right combinations to maximise effect. He hoped he'd be half as good as her at such things one day. Harry could feel Hermione's magic coursing through her outfit, protecting her as she moved. He wondered if she was sensitised enough to it yet. He was certainly more aware of her each time he saw her.

And it was getting intoxicating.

But he had to throw off the effect. It was very distracting, though it would have its uses once they were out in the world. He would be able to sense when she was nearby, the same way he could with Lily. That was a little weird, but comforting all the same. He would always know where she was. If, by some misfortune, they were separated tonight, he would know where to find her. Though, in all truth, he had no intention of letting her out of his sight, or the range of his wand.

Fuck _Merlin_ ... how he would tear apart any threat to her if they happened across one! It would be the ugliest thing. He was a little in awe of his own determination regarding it. He'd always felt this protective necessity where Hermione was concerned, ever since seeing this strong, fearless, ultra-clever young witch looking nothing more than a terrified little girl, under the shadow of a twelve-foot mountain troll and his vicious club. His mild regard, his borderline reverent respect for her talents, transformed in a second into a fierce, burning need to take care of her, to look after her and defend her vulnerabilities.

He'd made something of a habit of it ever since. Hermione Granger's well-being was Harry Potter's responsibility, as no-one else seemed to realise just how much she deserved such care. It was a job he wanted, certain that no-one else was good enough to take it on.

Which was why Harry's biggest shame was his abandonment of her. When Hermione's need was at its greatest, so had Harry's weakness been.

But she was prepared to overlook it, forgive him as his mother had. That was exalted company in Harry's book. If only he could join them there. Maybe one day. But not today, for today they had a different kind of fight to wage. One Harry was much happier with, much more confident he could win. He concentrated on that as he led Hermione to the threshold of the palace wards, where he stopped and turned to her.

"Last chance to change your mind," said Harry.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "You honestly think I'm going to let you go into danger, while I just sit in the parlour drinking tea and twiddling my thumbs, worrying myself silly until you come back? _Honestly?_ There was _never_ a chance of _that_ , Harry. This Lady is not for turning."

Harry smirked at her. "Let's go then."

He led her through the ward boundary, watching her shiver as the magic passed over her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "It's just that, well ... the wards at the Camp were so evil and invasive. They made me physically sick. These actually gave me courage."

Harry grinned. "I'm so glad you picked up on that. It shows you are starting to open up to the _real_ nature of magic. When Nev and I configured the wards we built that into it. It was a twat of a ritual, to be frank, but well worth it. Always steels me to face whatever is out there."

"I feel like I could punch Tom Riddle in his tiny dick without a worry in the world!"

Harry burst out laughing. It took a minute for him to settle. "Oh, Hermione ... we are _so_ doing that! I _have_ to see that before I kill him. Ha ha ha. That's one for the bucket list. Oh ... fuck me! Ha ha."

"Is that one as well?" Hermione asked, sultrily.

Harry grinned back at her. " _That,_ my dear, is numbers one, two and three. And I think it appears a dozen times in my Top Twenty."

"Good," said Hermione. "I have lots of positions to tick off then. Sod it, let's just change the _B to an F_ on that List you just mentioned ..."

Harry shuddered pleasantly at the inference. It was an idea with plenty of merit. "Good Merlin, you really have been talking to Enola ..."

"Yes, I have," Hermione giggled lightly. " _And_ she told me all about runic magic being used in the bedroom. Some of the stories she told me about her and Neville ... I hope you didn't tell him _all_ your tricks, maybe kept some for me."

Harry smirked at her. Then he shifted on his feet, coolly embarrassed. "I kept the best ones for you. I think you'll like them. You should know as well, I ... er ... I only taught Neville the runes and the _theory_ , because that's all I know."

"What are you getting at?" asked Hermione, pulling them to a stop. "What do you mean?"

Harry turned away from her, slightly ashamed "I mean I ... I've ... um ... never actually _used_ them myself. What I mean is ... I've not ... there's never been a time when ... _you know._ "

Hermione turned to him, her eyes wide with doubt and shock. "Harry ... are you saying you ... you've never ... have you never _been_ with anyone?"

Harry toed the ground sheepishly, then shook his head. Hermione's mouth formed a perfect 'o' in her deep surprise. "Don't tell Neville. Don't tell anyone. Please."

Hermione looked so gently at Harry just then that he had to turn away as he begged for her compliance. He couldn't bear to face her.

"How is that possible?" asked Hermione softly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're hot as fuck. Even your _magic_ is sexy. I've imagined all these witches fighting over each each to jump into bed with you! How have you never taken any of them up on it?"

Harry shrugged and kicked a stone in the mud. "You have seen my face, haven't you? Despite what you think, it tends to put girls off that sort of thing."

Hermione walked purposefully around and took Harry by the shoulders, forcing his eye to meet one of her own. "Yes, I have seen it. Before and now. And you're gorgeous. In any light. This is so amazing, Harry. You are going to be _so_ mine ... _all_ mine!

"And I absolutely _love_ that. And, if it makes you feel any better, I've never had any sex that I enjoyed. It will be a first time for me, too, in a way. Because I intend to enjoy every long _second_ of it when it happens with you."

Harry frowned. "It doesn't make me feel better. Not at all. Knowing that Ron not only fucked you, but made it bad for you ... it makes me unspeakably angry. Not to mention insanely jealous. It was easier when I convinced myself that he raped you every time. I could be justifiably furious about that."

Hermione swallowed hard. "It _was_ practically rape every time. I never wanted it, I certainly never enjoyed it, but it was something I had to do. I had no choice, not if I wanted to avoid a worse punishment. In fact, I cried for the first six months or more. And, sometimes, when I resisted ... it actually _became_ rape."

A tree nearby went up in raging flames. It took Harry and Hermione working together to douse the inferno with their wands. When the tree was nothing more than a smouldering skeleton, Hermione moved to Harry and pressed her hands to his chest.

"This rage of yours is so intense ... it's _dangerous_ , Harry ... maybe even to _y_ _ourself,_ " Hermione whispered. "Is that how ... how you were so badly hurt, the night you rescued me?"

Harry scowled. "I'm going to have such a long chat with Enola. She's supposed to keep my secrets."

"No, that's _my_ job now," said Hermione. "And I'm going to get Ennie to tell me everything, just so you know. So get used to it."

Harry shook his head in defeat. "I was angry with myself. _Very_ angry. I'm not sorry. I wont ever be sorry for something like that."

"You wont have to be," said Hermione. "You've already promised not to let anything happen to me. I believe you. But we have to deal with this rage of yours. I wont let it hurt you again. I wont stand for it."

Harry's heart ached at the promise. He was so helpless with this girl. He steeled himself. "When this is all over, I'll break down for you, if that's what you want. But, right now, this pool of rage is being cultivated for Riddle and his subjects."

"Then let's release some of it," said Hermione. "Let's go and find Luna."

Harry proffered his arm and as soon as Hermione closed her fingers around it, he Apparated them both away. They emerged in a moonlit lane, flanked by high hedges on both sides, which cast deep shadow across the path. It was deathly quiet. Hermione hugged close to Harry.

"It's alright," he whispered soothingly. "Just stay with me. Come on."

They stole out along the lane, moving cautiously at first but quicker as they settled into the night. As they reached a turn at the end, Hermione pulled Harry to an abrupt stop, causing her to collide with him.

"We need to be careful," she whispered to him. "I know this lane. It leads into Beckery. The village square is just around this bend. There's a checkpoint there."

"I know, but thanks for your diligence," said Harry, grinning in the dark. "If we're very lucky, we should pass this one quite easily."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn't push the point further as Harry led them on again. As she'd promised, the tiny village of Beckery opened up before them. The quaint village square was silent as they entered it. A few cottages on the far side still had windows lit, but other than that the moon provided the greatest source of light. It tinted everything in a surreal silvery coat.

The checkpoint was directly ahead of them. Harry made for it. He was confident, but he caressed his wand out of habit. There was no need to be cocky, after all. Hermione kept pace with him, moving exceptionally close, as though not wanting to be out of his shadow. He was happy with her actions, he didn't like the idea of her being any further away than was necessary.

They stopped at the checkpoint.

"You will submit your wands for inspection, please."

Hermione immediately made to hand hers over, fear-conditioned to the promise of punishment for refusing the command. Harry moved to quickly ease her hand down. Then he turned to the checkpoint guards.

"You need to be more forceful," he said. "Death Eaters never say _please._ "

"Sorry, Harry," said Angharad, throwing off her hood to reveal herself. Myfanwy followed suit next to her. "I'll be more of a bitch next time."

"Good. Any trouble subduing the real guards?"

Myfanwy scoffed. " _Real_ _guards_? Are you having a laugh? These two couldn't guard their own arse holes from penetration. A baby could have overpowered them."

Harry grinned. "Well, good job anyway. Stay vigilant. We can expect trouble at any time. The night has eyes, you know."

Angharad moved closer to Harry, her dark features set and serious. "It isn't safe here tonight, Harry. You shouldn't have come. They are holding some big ceremony up at the old abbey. It's crawling with Vigilants up there."

"Vigilants?" Hermione asked.

"Religious zealots who have deified Riddle," Harry explained. "They founded the Church of the Dark Mark. They are on a par with the Death Eaters in terms of the hierarchy of things."

Harry watched Hermione shiver at the mention of the new quasi-religion, which had sprung up in the wake of Tom Riddle's Ascension to self-proclaimed Dark King of England. They were known for brutally putting down all followers of other faiths. Harry remembered being to forced to watch, as they burnt down and desecrated a Ministry of Merlin house of worship in Cornwall, including all fifty Merlin Reverents who had been praying inside. He and Neville had arrived too late to help. The screams of the children among the victims still haunted Harry to this day ...

"I've never heard of them," said Hermione. Her voice was quavering. "I've heard of the Church, of course. Ron forced me to take a vow of subservience to them, almost like a baptism. You had a choice - get doused by water 'blessed' by Vold - sorry, _Riddle_ \- or get doused with concentrated bubotuber pus."

"Nice choice," Myfanwy spat bitterly.

"I was going to go for the pus," Hermione scythed. "Then I think Ron hit me with the Imperius Curse, because next thing I knew I was dressed in a ceremonial robe, my hair was soaking and he was hitting me in an altogether different way for my disobedience."

Harry gritted his teeth. He pushed his swelling anger away from the surface of his furious mind.

"How many are there?" he growled.

"Fifteen to twenty, maybe more," said Myfanwy.

"Good, that's five each," said Harry. The girls scowled maniacally.

"I call dibs on any spares," said Angharad. "It's high time we gave these pussies a good kicking."

Harry nodded in agreement. "I have to find out about Luna. I have a bad feeling about her, but I need to know for sure. Give us half an hour, then meet us at the old cemetery ... I intend to create a few new internees for it tonight."

"Half an hour," Myfanwy nodded. "We'll be ready."

Harry turned to Hermione. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Come on, Luna's cottage was this way."

They left the girls behind and hurried away from the village square. They hadn't gone more than thirty yards, however, before Hermione pulled Harry behind the low wall of nearby garden.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Up there, look," said Hermione. She pointed to a strange, pointy object on top of a war memorial at the far end of the square. It was rotating on its axis. "Scanning Stave. They were only just installing it when we moved away. They are everywhere now. It sweeps a constant spell around the tracking zone, but if we time it right we should be able to stay in the blind spot. When I tell you, just run! Wait ... wait for it ... _now_!"

Hermione grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him from their hiding spot. They scuttled forwards, stopped - as they were going too fast - started again, then slid down the gap between two houses to escape the sweep of the locator spell.

"How did you know where the spell beam was?" asked Harry, leaning into the wall and catching his breath. "I couldn't see that."

"I had to dodge them constantly, if I wanted to escape for a bit of peace and quiet back at Hengest," Hermione explained. "The camp was dense with security measures. You sort of got used to knowing when the staff tip was pointing at you."

Harry looked at her admiringly. "Just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"What can I say, you have to allow a girl her secrets," Hermione replied. "Luna's house is close by."

She made to move again, but almost immediately Harry snatched her back and pinned her bodily to the wall. She looked into his eye and said, somewhat breathily, "Is this really the time?"

Harry smirked at her. "I cant honestly think of a time when this _wouldn't_ be appropriate. But, look over there ... CCTV cameras. We can't just stroll out into view. Here."

Harry rapped them both over the head with his wand.

"What was that?" asked Hermione, twitching as the spell settled on her.

"Reflection Charm," Harry explained. "It will project the background behind us onto our bodies as we move. Just in case the camera is rigged to expose standard Concealment Spells. There has been quite a lot of advancement in Magical Tech in the past few years."

Harry pulled Hermione forwards again. Despite the Charm on them, Harry stuck them close to the houses and the shadows they provided. They moved quickly and Harry let out a tense breath once they were out of sight of the camera. He cancelled the Reflection Charm with a bitter sigh.

He decided there and then that bringing Hermione on this mission was a silly mistake. If she hadn't been here, he would have just blasted the camera into bits, then dealt with any security forces who turned up to investigate. But the possibility of bringing such risks down upon Hermione was making him cautious and unsure. She seemed to sense his anxiety.

"You're tense," she whispered as they walked on. "Nervous, not your usual, assured self. It's because of me, isn't it?"

"I'm worried about you," Harry confessed. "Being out here is just really dangerous."

"I know ... but so are _you_ ," Hermione quirked. "I feel quite safe, Harry. I've got you to protect me. And I'm not so defenceless myself, you know. Just act as you normally would. I'm an extra hand for you here, not a hindrance. I hope."

Harry felt his chest swell at her determination. "I'm sorry, I'm treating you like you're delicate again. It's a hard habit to drop. But you've come through some serious horrors yourself, I have to remind myself of that, even if I don't want to think about the details. I just cant help it. I'm used to protecting you ... I _like_ doing it."

"I like you doing it, too," Hermione smiled. "But you defend me by being aggressive against any threats. Don't stop doing that on my account. In fact, be _worse_ for me."

"Hermione ... you really are my Queen," said Harry, reverently.

" _Finally_... something we agree on!" Hermione laughed lightly. Then she pulled him to an abrupt halt. "Harry! A patrol!"

He followed her line of sight. They were still shrouded by the bushy hedge of a garden they were in. It kept them from the view of a pair of wizards walking along the road very close by.

"Death Eaters?" Hermione murmured lowly.

"No, they are just the local law," Harry hissed in return. "Argus Force Constables. No better, though. Most have ambitions of promotion to the rank of Death Eater from what I hear. The initiation and induction rites include participating in a D.U.I."

"D.U.I?" Hermione queried.

"Death Under Interrogation," Harry explained. "It's seen as a test of their limits, apparently ... to see if they having the stomach, or the mettle, for the serious business of Death Eating."

"The Argus Force," Hermione repeated with a scoff. Then she recited their motto, " _Our Eyes are Everywhere._ Maybe we should hit those two with a Conjunctivitis Curse . _.._ or stop them seeing in a more permanent way."

"They haven't even got their wands out," said Harry, bitterly. "They will regret that over-confidence. Come on."

Harry darted out from their hiding spot and sped towards the Constables. His crunching footsteps alerted them, and his quick movements triggered motion sensors in the narrow street. The Constables turned and Harry's wand snapped into his hand, but before he could even cast, Hermione shot a powerful Stunner from behind, slamming one of the wizards into the shutter of a garage, which he smashed into with an almighty clang. His partner aimed his wand at Hermione in response ...

Well ... _that_ was a mistake ...

Harry's reaction was so fast Hermione would later tell him she didn't see it as anything more than a blur. He flicked a Severing Curse at the Constable, which sliced his wand arm clean off at the shoulder. He screeched in agony and collapsed into the pool of blood which spilled out from the wound. But, before he had even hit the floor, Harry had transfigured his lost wand into a dagger and driven it through his skull. It caused his eye to pop out of its socket as the blade cut through the optic nerve.

Harry moved and stood over his victim, eyeing his handiwork. Hermione joined him and looked down. She didn't speak.

"I asked you not to judge me," Harry said, quietly.

"How can I not?" Hermione asked, evenly. "Transfiguring his own wand? That's fabulously quick thinking. And mightily impressive magic, I should add. I like the pattering on the knife handle, too, you big show-off! But why a bolt of lightening?"

Harry smirked inside his shawl. "It's the Sowilo Rune, like my _old_ head scar. I've sort of made it my calling card."

"I like your style," said Hermione, nodding. She glanced over at the dented garage door. "What about the other one?"

"Give me a second," said Harry, crossing to the prostrate Constable ... drawing Excalibur as he went ...

Hermione looked away modestly as Harry worked. He might as well have been getting undressed in front of her for the first time. It felt that way. He was reticent to begin with, but Hermione wasn't flinching at his actions. She was absorbing them, bearing them, adjusting to the way Harry dealt with his enemies, with _their_ enemies. She held her head up and simply kept watch until he returned.

"Has she sated her thirst?" Hermione asked as Harry returned, nodding to the sword swinging at his side.

"Not nearly enough," said Harry. "But it'll do for now. That guy had the scroll-spell to cancel the motion alarm, so that's done. I need to check this one for the Skeleton Key - the pass to enter any property on their watch. All Argus Patrols carry one. It might make getting into Luna's a little less conspicuous"

"Let me," said Hermione, bending down and fishing through the robes of the very dead wizard at their feet. They were horribly exposed, frisking a corpse in the middle of the street. Harry marvelled at the weirdness of his life. Then Hermione stood. "Is this it?"

It was indeed. A long, thick key, made of bone, with a skull at the hilt. Harry took it from her. "Thanks. We'd better get this body off the street. Can you clean up the blood while I stash him with the other one?"

Hermione nodded and drew her wand, while Harry flicked and swished and levitated the wizard out of sight. He pulled the two bodies to a verge at the side of the road, where two gnarled trees stood. He disrobed one of the Constables, transfigured the robe into a sheet of tarpaulin to cover them, then dislodged a huge amount of earth to cover his work. It wasn't perfect, but he and Hermione would be long gone before anyone discovered what had happened.

Harry returned to her. "Still with me?" he asked cautiously.

"More than ever," she said. "You really are impressive, you know."

Harry couldn't prevent a grin. "Hush you. Now, which house was Luna's?"

Hermione looked around ... and drew in a rattling breath. Horrified, she pointed to a building nearby. If she hadn't drawn Harry's attention to it, he might have assumed it was derelict. There were curtains flapping from a window whose glass had been shattered, parts of the brickwork seemed to be crumbling and the thatched roof was charred from fire, exposing the timbers beneath. The door had been blown off its hinges and hung precariously from the splintered door frame.

"Oh, _Harry_... Luna!" Hermione choked out desperately.

Harry felt a surge of anger pulse through him. He couldn't bear to face the images of what might have happened to his old friend, though he fancied he could guess fairly accurately what they would be. He didn't feel master of words enough to answer Hermione and instead raced across to the house.

"Harry! Be careful! There could be traps, alert spells ..."

"Let them come," Harry growled. He drew his wand at the threshold and heard Hermione gasp close behind, as his throbbing magic swept out of him and washed over her. He was at his peak now, primed to fighting form. He pushed his power into his wand, in readiness for what he might find inside the house. Then he strode in.

The place was wrecked. Furniture was upturned, a bookcase had been cracked in half and lay askew against a Wizarding Wireless set in the corner of the room. A cool breeze blew around fragments of the _Daily Prophet_ , and an article covering the birth of another Heir of Voldemort. Harry recognised Cho Chang's face in the moving snippet of paper, lifeless eyes presenting her baby for the photo session. Harry kicked at it with his boot.

Each room told the story of a violent struggle. The kitchen table was on its side, fragments of a tea pot and cup littering the floor nearby. The star-strewn sky was visible through the roofless ceiling, and signs of the fire that decimated it obvious in the scarred walls, and the charred, acrid smell which still clung to the air.

Harry found Luna's bedroom and cast the beam of light from his wand around the space. His heart stopped at what he found there, his breath holding fast in his lungs. For there, on the mid-point of the crumpled bedsheets, unmistakable traces of blood. Harry collapsed next to the bed and cast his wand over the spot, closing his eyes to pull the echo of memory. He yelled out in anger as the scene replayed for him.

"Harry!" asked Hermione, skidding to him. "What is it?"

Harry stood and swallowed hard against his resistant throat. "They ... they tortured her, Hermione ... and I don't need to tell you _how_ they did it! Those fucking bastards! Forgive me, Luna, I should have come for you sooner."

"Merlin, _no!"_ Hermione yelped in her horror, clutching at her chest. She didn't want to picture Luna being violated in the way she knew she must have been. Nothing else would have cut so personally to Harry as _that_. "Why would they do that to her?"

"For information ... on you ...or on _me_."

Harry flicked his wand and the bed shattered into a dozen pieces. The power of the spell caused Hermione to step back from the shock wave. She moved as soon as she could, and hugged into Harry.

"S-she knew," Harry spat, hateful anger rising in his very synapses. He breathed and relived Luna's suffering again. "She _knew_ about me! I don't know how, but she did. But she didn't tell them ... not even when they made her _bleed._ She didn't tell them a goddamned thing."

Harry roared out, low and guttural. A menacing snarl. The feral cat inside him was waking, angry and aggressive. Harry felt claws sprout on his fingers. He worked hard to keep the beast back, breathing heavily, but it was tough labour.

"If Luna knew you were alive, maybe coming for her, she might have tried to warn you," said Hermione softly, trying to calm Harry's roiling fury, which was surging out of him in uncontrollable spikes. "Focus Harry, let her guide you."

Harry mastered himself under Hermione's command. He felt Luna's signature clearly on the air. Hermione was right, Luna had prepared for this. Harry followed the strength of the signal, tracked it back through the house. In the living room, the vibration was almost overpowering. But Harry couldn't find the source. He cast a Revelio spell. Nothing.

"It's here, Hermione, I can feel it. I just can't _see_ it. Come on, Luna. Talk to me."

"She thought you were dead," Hermione reasoned. "And she was working with the Veil at the Department of Mysteries. How would she think to communicate with you, Harry? Maybe in a way the Death Eaters wouldn't know to look for?"

Harry clapped his hand to his forehead. "You're a genius, Hermione! She thought I was _dead_... she was trying to find a way to talk to me in that _form_ ... to talk to _spirits_... she called it _ghost writing!_ Ernie MacMillan told Neville all about it! _"_

"Did it work?"

"For ghosts, no," said Harry. "But it was like Muggle Invisible Ink. You could only see it through special glasses ... _Spectre-Specs_ , she called them. She was going to sell them with the Quibbler. Might have been fun for kids, I suppose. Look for glasses, Hermione. Ones typically _Luna_."

Harry began scrabbling around the wrecked room. Hermione hadn't moved. Harry stared at her.

"Aren't you going to help?"

Hermione cocked her head at him. "Brilliant at advanced magic, rubbish at the simple stuff. _Accio Spectre-Specs!_ "

From across the room, a small, innocuous box flew open and a pair of shocking pink sunglasses, with stars for frames, soared out to Hermione's waiting grip. She smirked at Harry and waved them at him. Harry frowned at her.

"I take it back. Bringing you _was_ a good idea."

Hermione smiled and put the glasses on. Then she inhaled sharply as she looked at the far wall.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"I ... I don't know if I can read it to you, Harry," Hermione breathed.

"Then give me the glasses."

"No!" she cried shrilly. "It might be worse if you read the details."

"Hermione ..."

She sighed in resignation. "There's a message written on the wall. It's from Luna. You're right, Harry ... she was tortured here, all to try and get information on you, where you might be. I don't understand this, but she ... she says she was ra ... no, I don't want to say it ... Luna says that she was _forced_ _... again?_ Please don't let that be true! She never told us a thing! Oh, Harry! This is so painful!

"She says they are rounding up people who supported you. She doesn't know what is going to happen to them, or where they are going to be taken. But she thinks they are going to be used to lure you out. She begs you not to give in ... not to die again. I'm sorry ... I can't read any more!"

Hermione flung the glasses off and fell to the floor, tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry dropped down beside her and pulled her close to him. She sobbed into his chest. Harry's anger was reduced to a dull burning in his veins. He wasn't mindless anymore, he was quite calm. He knew this state, he was in control of it.

It was how he always felt ... before he took dirty, evil life.

Harry pulled Hermione's head up to look into her eyes. "We will find Luna. I don't think she's dead. I can't say how, I just don't. But for now, we have another task."

"Which is?"

"It's been half an hour. Fan and Ann are waiting."

Hermione wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath. "Then let's meet them. I am so _angry_ , Harry! I might not be able to control myself."

"Please ... don't hold back. I have no intention of being merciful to the bastards who did this."

They stood. Wands out and heaving with their combined magic. Harry was astonished at its potency. Then they nodded at each other, before heading out of the door.

* * *

Angharad and Myfanwy were waiting for them at the cemetery gates. They had shirked their stolen Death Eater robes and were now resplendent in their battle trenchcoats. Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by them. They looked formidable, and the sight helped calm her searing pre-fight nerves.

For Harry was so enraged that Hermione was a little meek in the face of him, her earlier bravado tempered as the reality of combat loomed ever closer. Harry hadn't spoken since they'd left Luna's cottage. She could only imagine the furious thoughts chasing each other through his mind. For hers were in a similar state. She couldn't get a grip on Luna's suffering, her courage in resisting the torture.

Or her own role in being at least partially responsible for it.

It hadn't occurred to Hermione that her friends would be targeted after her disappearance. She didn't consider herself that important. Perhaps Susan knew what was happening, and could have told her, if she'd regained consciousness before now. But she was still in the grip of a deep coma, her body only slowly responding to the treatment she was receiving. Hermione had no way of knowing she was being so callously hunted.

The two pairs met. But the introduction was brief. Myfanwy was deeply agitated.

"We have to hurry," she said sharply. "They're conducting a ritual up there. Harry ... and it looks like they are about to _sacrifice_ somebody ... judging by the dimensions of everything, it's going to be a very _small_ somebody."

"Heaven forbid!" Hermione gasped in shock.

"They've built a pyre," Angharad added, equally as urgent. "And there's a sacrificial throne in the middle of it. It's _child-sized_ , Harry."

"Don't let Hermione out of your sight," Harry growled warningly to Angharad, then he took off at speed. The others followed, but struggled to keep up in his wake. At the crest of the hill they lost him completely, as he transformed into his powerful Animagus lion form and galloped off into the night.

It was quite a sight for Hermione. She hadn't really registered it the first time, but Harry in his lion guise was _enormous_. Powerfully built, heavy set and lethal. His mane was thick and wild and flowed out behind him as he raced away. She would have to get him to show her close up one day. He looked lush enough to pet.

But not tonight. Tonight he was a deadly machine, built to kill and on the hunt for blood. Hermione reached the crest of the hill first behind him, and was only prevented from going on by a Shield Wall Charm Myfanwy cast from down the slope. Hermione collided with the thickened air with a yelp of shock, and was stopped in her tracks.

"Hermione! Wait!"

So she did. It gave her time to assess the scene ... and she lost her breath as she took the sight in. It was like something she'd imagine from Harry's nightmare mindscape.

There was a long avenue of parched lawn between the remnants of the old abbey buildings. Sporadic outcrops of rock and stone were all that remained these days, and the overgrown grasses were encroaching on the ruins. Off to the right, the smashed debris of the old Chapel of Merlin was clearly visible, to Wizarding eyes only. The Muggles would be put off by the high cordon erected around it.

Hermione was glad to see it a ruin. It was the place she'd been forced to take Ron as her husband. It was a hated site.

But it was along the avenue where things were truly horrific. Two lines of twelve hooded wizards in ochre robes stood still as statues. Each held a long, flaming torch in one hand, creating an arch of crackling fire between the rows, which ran the entire length of the avenue. They were chanting something, but Hermione was too far away to hear it over the sizzle of the flames.

Then she heard something else ... something that made her heart freeze ...

It was the high-pitched scream scream of a child in absolute _terror._

A little girl screeched out, shattering the silent night. It was infused with more fear than Hermione could rightly conceive. Her mind broke at the sound. It gave a new definition to the concept of terror for her. The little girl cried out again and again, screaming desperately for her mother, as she was dragged roughly along under the arch of fire by a new wizard, robed differently to the others in shades of deep purple.

Each hooded, torch-bearing wizard fired a spell of dull blue light at the girl as she was hauled past them. They didn't seem to hurt her, but they made her pleading screams more and more tormented and urgent as each one hit her. Her shrieks resonated in the air, hanging there weirdly, as though the ritual was trapping them in place, harnessing the absolute fear in her wretched tone. Hermione could hardly bear to look towards the scene.

But she did. A large bonfire had been erected at the top of the avenue. It was already lit and burning fiercely. The purple-robed wizard was pulling the terrified little girl towards a simple wooden seat with a high back. Hermione could understand why Angharad had called it a _throne,_ but she had no mind for that. All she could focus on was the blonde-haired child being forced into it, all the while sobbing in unrelenting anguish. Hermione was oddly fixated by the girl's pigtails, and the cute little red bows tied in to the final braid at the very bottom of them.

It was with a flash of fear, that made her feel dopey and stupefied, that Hermione registered that they were about to _burn this poor child_ _alive!_

She felt an anger unlike anything she'd ever known course through her. She burst through Myfanwy's Shield Wall and took off down the hill, flicking her wand into her hand. She heard thudding footsteps behind and knew the girls were following fast, but she couldn't think about them. She was single-minded to reach the struggling little girl up ahead. She had to get to her ... before they raised that detestable throne ... and forever stilled her writhing and kicking limbs, which seemed determined to keep struggling for freedom right till the very end ...

But Hermione was much too far away. She'd never reach he child in time. She closed her eyes and prayed as hard as she could.

_Hurry, Harry!_

And Harry responded ... in _devastating_ fashion.

The air was cleaved by a roar of pure, animalistic rage, and Harry The Lion leapt dramatically into view from _through_ the back of the pyre, shattering the bonfire into largely harmless, smouldering planks. In one movement he pounced on the ritual leader, taking his throat between his powerful jaws, and biting through all the bone and sinew in one snap of his huge fangs. Harry wrenched the head viciously off and sent it rolling away down the slope, as the other Vigilants scattered and tried to react. Hermione watched in shock as the headless corpse crumpled to the floor. She shook herself and raced forward to help her lion.

But Harry was a mindless bundle of unstoppable power now. He charged around at breathtaking speed, swiping those deadly claws at one Vigilant, then another, till ochre robes soaked with blood soon littered the field. He was chaos personified, and his enemies scattered and fled before him. Angharad and Myfanwy joined him in the heat of the fight, darting here and there, Apparating in and out of view so fast that Hermione couldn't keep track of them. And their spells were _ferocious_. One Blasting Curse from Angharad left a gaping hole in one Vigilant's chest, where his black heart once was. Hermione looked right through it in surreal amazement.

And what she saw stirred an unimaginable, fear-filled fury in her own heart.

Harry was looming over a Vigilant, his claws ripping viciously at the bastard's chest, sending showers of blood shooting out in all directions. But another was moving towards him from behind. He had taken one of the flaming torches, snapped the wooden pole to make a crude spear, and was hoisting it up above his head to thrust into Harry's back. Hermione watched the whole thing as if in slow motion.

Harry was going to be skewered on that makeshift pike ... he wouldn't have time to see ... they were going to _kill him!_

And Hermione finally found her mind, and reacted in a feral frenzy. She cast a Reductor Curse so powerful that it crushed all of the bones in the Vigilant's body. He folded to the floor, as though he were merely a robe falling off a coat hanger, shrieking in high-pitched agony as his skeleton turned to ash. Harry span at Hermione's lethal spell casting, transformed into his human form again and drove Excalibur through the now boneless wizard at his feet, sighing as the last of his life ebbed away. He grinned at Hermione a second, then darted back into the battle.

But by then it was all but done. One Vigilant remained, but as he tried to escape Harry pulled him back with a powerful spell. It was like he'd hooked the man on a fishing line. He skidded to Harry's boot ... which he promptly smashed into his face. The Vigilant yelped out in pain, then spat a mouthful of blood and tooth shards onto the grass.

"Secure him," Harry ordered to Myfanwy. He brandished Excalibur, twirling it like a practiced swordsman, assessing the carnage. He nodded to himself, satisfied, as he noted that there were no more enemies to be cut down. It had the feel of a job well done. "Ann ... go to the girl."

"On it," said Angharad, and she hurried off to free the child, who Hermione could see had fainted, but was otherwise physically unharmed. A second later and both disappeared in a swirl of air.

Hermione moved to Harry and hugged him tight, ignoring Myfanwy's raised eyebrows next to them. It suddenly struck her how close she had come to losing him again. Her heart throbbed. She was desperate to feel him alive under her touch, so she pushed a hand into his robe to feel his speeding heartbeat, skin-on-skin.

"Are you alright?" she breathed into his hair.

Harry returned her hug fiercely. "I'm fine. You? Did they hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay. What _was_ this, Harry?"

"I think I know," he said. There was a look of triumph in his eye and he disentangled himself from her and drew out a small, ruby pendant from his pocket. "I found this."

Hermione stared at it. "That ... that looks like the thing Pwyll brought us! Is it a ..."

Harry nodded. "Yes ... a _Horcrux receptacle_. I can feel it. Looks like they've standardised them."

"But, that might mean ..." Hermione gasped. "Riddle ... he might be coming here!"

Myfanwy shot up, taut. Harry raised his hand to silence her. "It's possible, but not likely. I imagine Riddle has his own space for this particular rite. I'd be amazed if he did it somewhere so public and uncontrolled. But he's probably waiting for this receptacle, complete with that poor girls' soul, so he can complete the Horcrux creation with whichever stupid fucker is next in line for the procedure. It might even be _Ron!_ But right now ... it's _empty._ "

Hermione couldn't get over Harry's triumphant look. She grinned widely at it. "What are you thinking?"

"We _stopped_ one, Hermione!" Harry fist pumped in reply. His enthusiasm was infectious. "We stopped a Horcrux being made! Don't you see ... this is a _victory_! We put a spanner in his works, however little it might prove to be in the grand scheme of things! Not only that, we know now what the fakes look like!

"They're all _the same_. Maybe more important ones will be different, but now we can rule out most of them. That's a typical Riddle-mistake. Brilliant, but oh so dumb! He didn't think I'd come back and expose his ruse. Fucking dumb, snake-blowing cunt! Now, let's see what we can learn from this prick ... just in case old Tom _does_ show up to join the party."

Harry stared down at his captive, held fast by Myfanwy's binding spell. He was a little manic. He was shivering from battle, the adrenaline still pulsing through him. He looked positively ecstatic and his eye was actually _glowing_. Hermione was beside herself. Harry was so powerful, so intense in this mode, it made her entire body ache for him at the mere sight. His energy was like a drug. She wanted him so badly, she wasn't sure she could resist for much longer.

Harry flicked his wand and the Vigilant was flung upside down. Harry cocked his head at him.

"Hello," he began conversationally. "Do you know who I am?"

"F-fuck you, Potter," said the Vigilant.

"I see Tom Riddle hasn't taught you any manners," said Harry. "But at least you all know what's coming for you. That _I'm_ coming for you. Each and every one of you fuckers. I like that. Now ... do you want to live?"

"You aren't going to let me live," the Vigilant spat.

"Oh, I might," said Harry, blithely. "You see, I like to send old Tom messages from time to time. You might just be the next one. If you're a good boy."

"Fuck you."

"You know, that's the second time you've sworn at me," said Harry, thoughtfully. "We need to wash your mouth out."

He flicked his wand. The dangling wizard immediately began to choke and sputter.

"Harry ..." said Hermione, frowning. "You're going easy on him."

"On the contrary," said Harry. "Right now, this cunt's lungs are filling up with water. I give it five minutes before he drowns from the _inside_. It's not a pleasant way to go. But, I could always cancel the spell ..."

The Vigilant spluttered. Hermione just looked on in amazement.

"What was that?" Harry asked, cupping a sarcastic hand to his ear.

The wizard tried again. "P .. ptr,"

"One more time?"

"Potter! P-please ... I have children ..."

Harry scowled angrily. "Then I pity those unfortunate wretches, to have such a father as you. If you co-operate, you may get to see them again."

"P -please ... I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Harry cancelled the spell. The Vigilant coughed again, then vomited a lung-full of water onto the ground.

"There. That's better, isn't it?" said Harry. He ended the Levicorpus spell and the wizard hit the floor with a dull thud. "Now, you are going to give me every detail you know, regarding the rounding up of people who have pledged support for me. And for every lie you tell, I'll take a limb and send it to one of your children with a fucking bow on it. Are we clear?"

The wizard whimpered at Harry's feet. Then he began his confession.


	15. A Witch's Vow

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The Wizarding media quickly dubbed it _'The Sacking of Glastonbury_ '. The story, in various blood-curdling forms, was covered extensively for the next few weeks. Indeed, as far as _The Daily Prophet_ was concerned, the rest of the world and all the people in it had ceased to exist. The various arms of the Wizarding Wireless Network, both audio and visual formats, ran exclusive after exclusive on the events, turning its propaganda wheels to full speed in an attempt to demonise the culprits.

So, thus it came to be, that Harry Potter's name was making headline news again.

And, in their eyes, he had never been more evil. Nor had he ever been more happy to be so. _The Prophet_ had dubbed him with such imaginative monikers as ' _Potter the Putrid'_ and ' _Heartless Harry'_. For what other sort of monster would kill defenceless monks simply pursuing their devout worship of the One True Lord? The small detail of ritual child sacrifice had failed to earn so much as a passing comment in any of the harrowing news reports. Funny that.

The poor little girl, who had been so close to becoming just another statistic in the Dark World, hadn't spoken at all. She was in a state of shock so deep she was practically catatonic. None of the healing witches had managed to get a peep out of her. She'd relented, without resistance, to be bathed and cleaned and dressed, and numbly accepted soup that was hand-fed to her. But she hadn't said a word or moved at all, other than to close her eyes to sleep, only to open them again with petrified reluctance when the time came.

Hermione was deeply worried about her. She had formed an immediate attachment to the child, her dormant maternal instinct stoked to life by the visions of horror that almost befell this meek, pretty little thing. Her panicked screams, her desperate, pleading eyes as she sat fixed to that infernal sacrifice throne ... Hermione struggled to push the memories from her mind. In the end, Harry was forced to put temporary blockers into her brain, to prevent the images invading her dreams.

For Lord knows Hermione had enough darkness to fight against during the night as it was.

But during the day, Hermione sat with the girl as much as anyone, helping to feed her and trying to coax some sort of response, but to no avail. They guessed the girl was around six or seven years old, but there was no way to be certain. Hermione suggested using a ritual to try and help her, but Harry felt that such magic might have been _responsible_ for her condition, and might only cause her greater distress if she were exposed to it again.

Secretly, Harry felt that the girl might be better off in her broken head, where she might have found a place of safety. For if the horrors she'd endured came back to her fragile young mind, the effect could be devastating enough to permanently fracture it. If nearly getting roasted alive wasn't bad enough, Myfanwy had found a ritual altar nearby ... with two adult sacrifices still bleeding into a ceremonial chalice. The blonde-haired woman might have been the girl's mother ... but there wasn't enough left of her face to make a positive connection.

So the girl had simply become another of Voldemort's Orphans. She was in elite company in that group, along with Harry, of course. But he didn't want to think about that, for it caused his mind to drift painfully to Teddy Lupin. Harry had no idea what had happened to his Godson, as he had never been able to trace him. He shuddered to think how badly Remus and Tonks would judge him, if he ever had to answer to them for not looking harder for the son they left to Harry's care.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, but Riddle had been oddly keen to absorb parentless, Pureblood toddlers into the New World Order, as if he saw them as kindred wretches. They were treated preciously, as bizarre as the notion seemed. If Teddy was lucky, Harry thought, he was dead. If he was still alive, he would be one of the generation of brainwashed children who had been taught to believe that Tom Riddle was some sort of universal father, a semi-divine wizard, anointed by the Gods of Magic themselves as their living incumbent on Earth, whose word was law and gospel, and who had been trained from birth to defend their One True Lord even at the cost of their own lives.

Apparently, even Hogwarts had twice daily prayer sessions devoted to worshipping the Dark Lord these days.

Harry knew the fanaticism this inspired all too well. It had accounted for the first life had taken outside of a combat situation.

Harry remembered the event as if it had happened yesterday. He and Neville had been meeting with Narcissa Malfoy, and Harry had been on edge for the entire time. He was sure their privacy wards had been breached, but he couldn't find the source. And it was too late to cancel the secret ren-dez-vous. So he met with Narcissa, conducted the usual exchange of intelligence, then returned quickly to Neville, who had been watching proceedings like a sniper from a nearby rooftop.

But Neville hadn't been alone. A young wizard had snuck up on him, and was about to curse him from behind. Harry responded with his Chain Incendio Charm, which he'd been itching to try out. The wizard gasped in shock as the fireballs passed through his skinny body, incinerating the entire mass of his upper torso, then Harry gasped as he watched him fall to the floor, quite dead.

For the _wizard_ was no more than a boy ... and still wearing his Hogwarts _One True House_ Robes. Harry would later learn his victim was barely fourteen years old.

Harry swatted the memory away. The guilt of it was turning the air of the sitting room so cold he could see his breath rising as steam rising before him. Sir David Pincott and Patrick O'Brien were exchanging worried glances. They knew better than to press Harry on his mood swings, but both were dressed for Summer ... and Harry's descent into self-loathing was causing ice crystals to form on their eyebrows.

Hermione frowned at him from the other end of the couch. "Harry ... stop whatever it is that you're doing this _instant!_ "

Harry stared at her, confused. "Eh?"

"It's _freezing_ in here!" she said through chattering teeth. "And I know it's _your_ doing. What's wrong? What are you thinking about?"

Harry looked down shamefully and commanded the air of the house to return to normal. "Sorry ... I got carried away, remembering ... I didn't realise ... sorry."

Hermione tossed aside the copy of the _Prophet_ she'd been scowling at, and slid along the couch to Harry's side. She moved so close that when she spoke only Harry could hear her.

"What is it?" she asked gently, snaking a soothing hand up his arm to his shoulder and squeezing softly.

She shouldn't be this close to him in public, Harry would have to stop her doing it. He lost the power to think clearly when he could feel the heat of her magic on his own. But he couldn't imagine a more repugnant idea than pushing her away. She was making him weak and silly and that just wouldn't do at all.

"It's nothing, forget it," Harry returned, determinedly avoidant. "I'm sorry. Look ... I've made the temperature go back to normal."

He sounded so apologetic that Hermione almost let it go. She still hadn't quite acclimatised to the way that Harry's connection to the very energy of the palace could change the atmosphere inside in an instant, if his mood took him. It was utterly fascinating, and she'd love nothing more than to study it in greater depth, but right now she had more pressing concerns.

Hermione scrutinised him. "The temperature might be normal again, but _you're_ not. Do you want to take a walk?"

Yes he did. Very much. Because Hermione's idea of a _walk_ these days was to get lost somewhere in the grounds, quite out of sight, where she could strip him of his shawl and kiss him senseless till they were both out of breath and shivery with passion. Harry was mindless at the very suggestion, but he was going to have to resist on this occasion. They were accumulating intelligence from the world outside the wards that morning and, unfortunately, going off for a quick roll in the haystacks would just have to wait.

Seriously, Tom Riddle was _such_ a cunt.

Harry took a calming breath. "No. I'm fine. We need to carry on looking."

And they really did. A fortnight had passed since the venture into Glastonbury, since the discovery of Luna's abduction, along with who knew how many others. Harry could barely keep a lid on his insistent urge to race out and scour Britain for the culprits, and enact swift justice on them all. He knew, without doubt, that if Hermione hadn't been here to reign him in he would have done just that. He could almost convince himself that it was the sole reason that she was so keen to lock her lips to his so often, so as to keep him from leaving.

It was easier to believe than the _other_ reason ... that she actually _wanted_ to kiss him. That was still pretty much crazy nonsense in Harry's mind.

But he also knew he was very lucky to just have her here. And not just for those mammoth kissing sessions he was growing so addicted to, either. She had always been his voice of reason, even in his wildest times. He had missed that without her, and now it felt as if he were edging a little closer to being whole again with her at his side. He looked back on his time with the ZGD, and the reckless dangers he undertook in Africa and the bleak recesses of Eastern Europe, and shifted uncomfortably with the memories.

Hermione would never have allowed any of it. The irony wasn't lost on Harry, the dichotomy of it. It had made him who he was, the man finally strong enough to protect her ... but she would have probably killed him _herself_ if he'd even _suggested_ any of the things he'd done. He smirked at the notion. Harry was dominant, powerful, fiercely independent. He _owned_ the responsibility of taking care of everyone. He was covetous of it.

But he just _loved_ the way that Hermione was so mindless in her desire to protect _him_. It was his new favourite thing.

And it made him feel even more powerful, more determined to stay alive, so that Hermione might continue to care for him. This was, by far, the best thing about his life right now. He wouldn't give it up for anything. He'd found power in runes and ritual, opened himself up to the natural magic of the world in alchemy and crystals, but nothing empowered him quite so much as his restless necessity to be good enough for Hermione. To have her worry about him, to soothe and salve him ... it made him feel like someone special. It was like being blessed.

Harry wasn't used to that. Hurt and pain were his bedfellows. His domain was more death than life, more ugliness than beauty. But Hermione was aggressively determined to reverse that. He wondered at her passion for it sometimes, looked himself in the mirror, which was a new marvel in itself, and questioned what he'd done to deserve it. It dispelled some of his inherent darkness, if only for a short time.

And Hermione reprising her role as Voice of Reason in his head was probably keeping him alive right now, if the reports he was listening to from Patrick and Sir David were anything to go by. Without Hermione to guide him, Harry would have just charged off into the world to hunt for Luna, and straight into the waiting arms of his enemies.

For Tom Riddle, it seemed, had finally woken to Harry's threat.

"Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Avebury, all in total lockdown," Sir David continued saying, now his lips had unfrozen.

"Death Eaters have been posted to every magical street from Kent to Country Antrim," Patrick added. "We've had reports from our insiders with the Department of Magical Transportation that every Floo is being monitored, tracking spells have gone up to record Apparition, and broomstick flight has been restricted to pre-determined corridors and heavily enforced, even tracked using satellites by wizards who have infiltrated Muggle Security Forces."

"In short, Harry," said Hermione, seriously. "Don't even think about leaving the palace wards!"

Harry frowned at her. "I'm not just going to leave Luna to her fate. Surely, you can't expect me to?"

"What I expect is for you to stay alive," Hermione returned, firmly. "And it's what _Luna_ expects of you, too. She predicted this, and you'd be insulting her efforts to let you know what was happening if you just go charging out there to your death. Use your head, sweetheart."

"So Tom Riddle imposes _Martial Law_ on Magical Britain and I'm just supposed to sit here and watch him do it?" Harry retorted, angrily.

"Yes, that's exactly what you are going to do!" Hermione replied, facing down Harry's ire with maddening calmness. _"For_ _now_. He wants to lure you out, by provoking your heroic side, your desire to help everyone. Don't let him play you so easily."

Harry huffed in frustration. He knew Hermione was right, but it didn't make things any better. He felt so useless, a ball of potential energy with nowhere to go for release. He wanted to cry out, to rant and rage. But Hermione stared at him crossly, so he mastered his anger and pushed it further into the well inside. She nodded her approval with a smile and he felt a little calmer.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I don't want to row with you."

"Oh, Harry!" she smirked. "That wasn't a _row_ ... we still have that fun to come in our relationship. But at least _making up_ will be interesting. I know what you want to go and do ... you wouldn't be _you_ without that thoughtlessly reckless side. It's part of your charm, really. But you have to know when to pick your fights and when to stay put. This is one of those times when you're just going to have to cool your jets.

"I know how you feel ... I want to run and rescue Luna, too. But we have no idea where she is, or even if she's still alive. Tom Riddle knows you will surface to help your friends. He has this irritating power over you ... always able to draw you out into the open, by threatening those you care about ... so now I have to exert _my_ influence over you to keep you _in_. And if you think I'm going to concede in a power struggle to _that_ snake-botherer, then you really don't know me at all."

Patrick O'Brien laughed heartily from across the room. "Merlin, Harry, she will make you a proper Queen. I think I might need to forge you a pair of crowns quite soon."

Harry couldn't help but exchange a grin with Hermione at that. He was going to offer a suitably witty retort, when suddenly the door to the sitting room opened abruptly and Neville and Frank Longbottom came hurrying in. Curiously, they were carrying a Wizarding Wireless box between them, which they slammed down onto the table in front of Harry and Hermione.

Neville looked down seethingly at them. "You might want to watch this, Harry. You _both_ might, actually."

"What is it?" Harry asked, frowning

"I've been monitoring the communication channels," said Frank. "It's just the standard crap about you for the most part ... rise of Dark Lord Potter, Butcher of Glastonbury, that sort of thing ... preparing the population for the worst. But then, a few minutes ago, the news network announced a press conference. I thought you might be interested to hear what the _keynote speaker_ has to say."

Frank flicked the box on. A three-dimensional image rose from the top of the box, as if from a Pensieve. There was a podium, a large crowd, and a familiar face standing as if about to orate a great speech. Hermione saw who it was ... and flew into Harry's arms on terrified reflex. She was _actually_ coiled in his lap, shivering with fear, whimpering pitifully into Harry's shoulder. He quickly slipped his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could, threading his fingers through her hair and trying his best to offset Hermione's terror. He relaxed his mind and opened up his magic to her.

"Give me your fear," he commanded in whisper.

"No, you have enough of your own," she stammered back.

"That wasn't a _request_ ," Harry replied firmly. "Quieten your mind ... open up to me. I don't want to violate you, but you are _not_ being afraid of _him_ in my presence!"

Harry felt Hermione concede, Slowly, tentatively, he edged his energy towards hers ... then touched it as delicately as he was able. Outside of ritual this was ridiculously intimate. It was almost too tender to touch like this. Hermione made the briefest move to recoil, but Harry held her firm. She turned fully into his body and embrace, burrowed her head into the crook of his neck and just gave in to him. For a moment, it was the most wonderful feeling. Harry narrowed his perception of the world to just them, the space they inhabited on the couch ... a slim envelope of pure bliss.

Then he felt the absolute panic on her surface.

And Harry was unrelenting in his response. He took it with his mind and ripped it from her, as though tearing away a newly-healed scab. The shock would be minimised that way. Hermione inhaled sharply as her fear went, then swooned and rubbed her body to Harry's, as he pushed his most positive healing power into her. Her fingers were dancing at his throat and she seemed to be nibbling his ear.

But Harry was too busy compartmentalising the fear he'd absorbed from Hermione to truly notice, or enjoy it. He'd been afraid in his life, too many times to be healthy. He'd heard fear, seen it in others, too. But never, not once in his myriad of macabre experiences, had he felt anything quite as complete and horrifying as this. It punched him all over, permeated every pore and piece of sense he possessed like a virus. But, in opposition to this, rose his own protective anger, his fury. More than a match, a destructive defender. He stared at the source of Hermione's mind-numbing fear, let that anger course through him, as he focused on the head he would one day tear off.

And the red hair he would set on fire first.

For the image of Ronald Weasley was now before them, enlarged and prominent as the magical camera tightened focus on him. What that meant, that he could inspire such intense terror in Hermione just by being there in this ephemeral form, stirred something so corrosively ugly in Harry's heart that he felt tainted by it a moment. Harry held his connection to Hermione steady, channelled fresh waves of fear from her straight into himself, feeding that constant battle inside him. It gave his anger focus, stopped it exploding out and breaking things.

Ron looked different. He hadn't aged well. There was something unspeakably dark in the lines of his face, a dull tint to his hair, which was slicked back and held in a ruler-straight pony tail to his waist by an onyx hair clasp. Without feeling it, Harry couldn't be sure, but there was something senselessly cold about Ron's expression. He would have easily believed him to be missing a part of his soul.

But he shrugged it off. Harry wouldn't allow that to be an excuse for his abuses of Hermione. After all, Ron had never needed one before. He had callously and fragrantly insulted her, belittled her, reduced her to tears with only the barest of effort. He was a master at it. He didn't need to have split his soul to become even worse.

He was just that big a cunt in Harry's view.

Then Ron started speaking ... and his new voice carried just as much icy coldness as his soulless expression.

"This is an appeal," he began theatrically. "On behalf of a worried, grieving and heartsick husband ... to a devoted and lost wife, one whose fear must be causing her so much hurt right now that I can barely sleep with the worry it is causing me."

Hermione suddenly shot up, her anger roused as potently as anything Harry had ever managed in himself ... and Hermione actually _spat_ at the image of Ron before her.

"Cathartic?" Harry asked, with a cautiously teasing grin.

"It's a _start_ ," Hermione scowled back. Then she turned back to the Wireless box ... but she kept her seat in Harry's lap.

"As has been reported in the press in the last few days," Ron went on. "My loving wife of five years, my _soulmate_ , Hermione Jean Weasley, has been missing for over a month now."

Harry quirked a glance at Hermione. "Since when did your middle name become ' _J_ _ean'?"_

Hermione looked back at him darkly. "Ever since the day I had to sign the Muggleborn Commission Register. I'd absolutely refused to go and do it ... so Ron had to make an example of my disobedience. It's amazing what kind of mistakes can be made ... when you have to try and speak clearly through two split lips and a broken jaw ..."

Harry pursed his own broken lips in his fury ... then _he_ took a turn at spitting in Ron's direction.

The press conference continued. "I have, as you can imagine, been _beside myself_ with worry. I have feared the worst. But now, thanks to the efforts of our exalted Lord Voldemort, who has been just as concerned as I for the fate of my beloved, I know that even my worst fears were not terrible enough to encompass the truth.

"The rumours, the whispers ... I'm sure you've heard them all, my friends and comrades. I can now confirm the awful truth to you all ... yes, Harry Potter, the Great Traitor ... has _returned_."

Ron waited dramatically as his audience broke out in hushed, animated chatter.

"I can tell you now, friends, that our worst fears have come to pass," Ron went on. The crowd erupted in angry cacophony, till Ron held his hands up for silence. "But this truth is not the whole story. For Harry Potter has not returned as a man ... but as an _abomination_ of nature. Raised from the dead by archaic and illegal ritual rites, obsessed with what fragments of his old life his warped brain can remember. He recalls only his fruitless fight against our One Dear Lord ... his sick desire to dilute the magical genepool by championing Muggles and half-breeds and, on a very personal level ... his perverse infatuation with my _own_ wife.

"That is why he has resorted to kidnapping her, holding her hostage, exposing her to his unnatural brutality. Brutality, friends, demonstrated in his savage attack on the good people of Glastonbury."

"Ah," Neville grinned at Harry. "So _that's_ what you are doing, when you take Hermione on one of your long walks around the garden ... _exposing her to your unnatural brutality!_ I've heard it called many things, Harry, but that's a new one on me!"

"I'll have you know there's nothing _unnatural_ about it," Hermione huffed. "And, if anything _, I'm_ the more brutal, if either of us is. Why do you think Enola has to spend half her time healing Harry's lips these days?"

"I did wonder!" Neville pondered in mild amusement.

"Ssh," Harry admonished, for Ron was speaking again.

Ron had waited for the angry mob to grow wild in their fury, milking it a minute, then he resumed. "I am here before you to make a vow, and a plea, my friends. On behalf of our exalted One True Lord ... know that you are safe. Each and every one of you. But also know this ... that to take up arms against Harry Potter is the duty of every good citizen. Information on him, his whereabouts, or his followers will be greatly rewarded by our Lord Voldemort himself.

"As for my plea, I direct this to Harry himself ... please, do not harm my loving wife. For in hurting her, you are not just wounding the woman, but also the precious love we share together. She will be more deeply damaged to know how I am suffering, knowing of her torture, rather than any injuries you may inflict on her, such is the depth of our affection. Do not expose her to that pain, I beg of you.

"Hand her back to me in one piece, Harry Potter, and you will be shown mercy. We shall return you to damnation in a respectful ceremony. To his supporters, I direct this message to you ... join with us, deliver my wife back to me, and you will be welcomed back into civilisation as heroes, and made as rich as you can dream. I make you this offer, as reward for Hermione's safe return to my loving arms.

"I have on my wrist a watch, made by a prestigious Muggle company called _Casio_. It has a little calculator on it, enabling you to do simple mathematics in the very palm of your hand! Can you even _imagine_ the quaintness of the Muggle who came up with that one!? _Priceless_ item in the Muggle world, I am sure. I also have a jar of life-giving air, taken from the very top of Ben Nevis, itself ... and I couldn't _possibly_ put a value on that, either. For the safe return of my wife ... you may have _one_ of those things."

At that point, Hermione leapt up and kicked the Wireless set over, which smashed as it hit the floor. Harry gasped in shock, as their magical connection was abruptly broken, but Hermione was so irate she barely noticed a thing. She was fuming, flushed with the fury roiling through her mind. Her eyes flashed dangerously, her jaw set as a pulsing throb erupted at her temples.

"A piece of shit Casio calculator _wristwatch_!" Hermione yelled. "Or a jar of fucking _air!_... that's my _net worth,_ is it? ... oh my God, Harry! ... I am going to rip his tiny cock off and shove it right up his ginger arsehole!"

Harry fought _very_ hard not to laugh, as Hermione shrieked and stomped around. "You know, Casio watches aren't _all_ that bad ..."

Hermione bulged her eyes dangerously at him. "Don't you ... don't ... just, just don't, Harry!"

Harry stifled a chortle in his throat. Thankfully, Hermione was spitting in her fury and didn't catch it. "Sorry, that was just the kind of humour us _murderous zombies_ go in for!"

Hermione turned to him, a little smirk threatening the corners of her mouth. She visibly calmed under Harry's amused gaze and soon, she too struggled against a grin. "A Casio calculator watch, though ..."

"Tell you what, when I find him and cut his hands off ... as punishment for ever laying a finger on you ... how about I give you the watch as a Halloween present?" Harry suggested, lightly.

"That might do," Hermione nodded, reasonably. She sat down again and crossed her arms huffily.

"You see, I'm a _thoughtful_ murderous zombie," Harry quipped. "I kidnap people, rather than eating their brains on sight, and I give as many presents as Father Christmas. And, while we are on the subject of free gifts, anyone here considering turning me in?"

"I've never been to Ben Nevis," said Patrick, thoughtfully. "I'll stay loyal for the jar of air!"

Harry chuckled. "I'll give you the entire fucking _mountain_ when I win, if that's what it takes."

"Ah, Harry lad, now _that's_ my sort of deal!" Patrick chortled. "Consider me suitably bribed."

Harry turned to Neville. "How about you? Any ideas of going rogue on me?"

Neville hummed as he considered it. "Hmmm, if I turn you in, Enola might enact the revenge on me that Hermione has in store for Ron ... only it'll be worse, knowing the creativity of my loving wife! Nah, on behalf of my generation of the Longbottom dynasty, I think I'll give it a miss. I like my cock where it is, thanks."

"And so do I," Enola quirked as she entered the room, rocking baby Alison on her shoulder. "What are you all talking about in here? What have I missed?"

"Oh, nothing serious, honey," said Neville, smoothing his daughter's wispy hair. "Only Ron Weasley telling the magical world that Harry has re-emerged as a zombie who observes due process, and that Hermione's safe return has the monetary equivalent of an eighties wristwatch!"

Enola grinned. "The usual, I see. So, how much are you worth then, Min? Should I be tempted?"

Hermione smiled fully now, right up to her eyes. Harry felt it take his breath away ... she really was stupidly beautiful. He honestly struggled to get over how much. "Oh, about thirty-three percent of fuck all, in today's money."

Harry laughed as Hermione nudged his shoulder playfully. "Don't let him get to you. He's trying to get a rise out of you, that's all."

"Well, it's working!" she seethed in reply. "Harry ... I'm going to have to take something away from you, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind."

"What's mine is yours, Hermione, you know that," Harry replied, brightly. "Anything particular you had in mind?"

"Yes," Hermione told him simply. "The task of killing Ron. I'm taking ownership of it from you, right here, right now."

Harry looked at her, his expression suddenly serious. "Be careful before you make a vow like that, Hermione. In this place, the way the magic is here, it will become an _actual_ bond without you realising it."

Hermione's own expression turned dark and stormy. "I _fully_ realise it, Harry ... and I say it again. I, Hermione _Jane_ Granger, am going to _murder_ Ronald Bilius Weasley. I will permit Harry James Potter to hurt, maim, de-limb and otherwise royally fuck up said Ronald Bilius Weasley, but the final act of killing that fucking wanker will fall to _me ... Hermione Jane Granger._ I swear it, in front of all these witnesses, and look for it to be sealed in whatever way you see fit."

Harry gave her a moment, just to give her time to absorb the full weight of what she was doing. Her stony glare told Harry all he needed to know ... and he conceded to her with a deft incline of his head. This was _her_ retribution ... despite all of Harry's own hatred of Ron, it wasn't his right to deny Hermione her chance at vengeance. Harry took Hermione's wand hand in his own and looked up pointedly at Neville and Enola, who each placed a hand over Harry and Hermione's interlocked fingers and drew their wands.

"I, Neville Longbottom, do bear First Witness to, and seal, this Vow."

He drew a silver line around their hands with his wand. He nodded at his wife.

"I, Enola Longbottom, do bear Second Witness to, and seal, this Vow."

Enola's whitewood wand traced Neville's silver line in the opposite direction to which he'd drawn, turning it gold. The magic settled over them like a spring mist. Harry saw Hermione close her eyes and breath deeply as she accepted the spell into herself, and the responsibility she'd avowed to. Neville and Enola withdrew their hands as the golden line of magic faded into their respective skins. Hermione opened her eyes, steely and determined and brown as freshly tilled earth.

Harry leaned in and whispered softly. "I hope the next vow we make in this manner wont be _quite_ so morbid."

Hermione smiled warmly at him, understanding his inference. "Oh, it wont be ... but I'll mean it just as much."

Harry held her gaze and shuddered. His mind drifted to that cluster of silver nuggets in his alchemy closet upstairs. Perhaps things were closer than he'd ever allowed himself to believe before ... and maybe, just maybe, it was worth sneaking out to his forge tonight ... he might just have something he needed to craft.


	16. Close to the Bones

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Hermione was sat on the toilet for at least half an hour. She was so afraid to look at the little Muggle device in her hand that she was frozen in place, unable to move. The cubicle of the restroom of Leaky Cauldron was frightfully small, but it encapsulated her feelings of being trapped almost callously well. She felt enclosed on all sides, the world heaving in on her as she sat stock still, with her knickers round her ankles.

And it was no better outside.

"If that strip turns blue, I'll kick you in the stomach myself."

"You're _so_ not helping, Sue," Hermione retorted angrily.

"You'll thank me for it later," Susan replied, tapping her foot impatiently on the stall door. "Come on. If we don't hurry up, people will think we're going down on each other in here."

_"What?!"_

"Don't sound so scandalised," Susan laughed. "I'll have you know I'm a very good shag, when I want to be. Before Blaise forced me down the aisle, I was _fighting_ the wizards off. Witches, too, if you must know."

"Really?" asked Hermione. She'd always suspected that Sue was partial to a bit of witch-love. She tended to stand just a little _too_ close when they shared communal showers after the gym or swimming club. This just confirmed it.

"Merlin, yes," said Sue, her tone dreamy. "Before Jenny made an honest witch out of Sally-Anne, me and _Miss_ Perks used to have some _very_ intimate girly nights in at our flat, if you know what I mean. Ah, I miss the good old days."

"Don't we all," Hermione moaned. "But it's the bad _future_ days I'm more panicked about right now."

"I told you not to worry," Sue told her firmly through the door. "If it turns out that one of Ron's little swimmers has forced its way into your lady egg, I'll cut the fucking spawn out _myself_ and make it look like an accident."

"Thank you?" Hermione quipped, uncertain if Sue was joking or not.

"What are best friends for?" Sue sniffed. "What's taking that thing so long, anyway? Are you sure you peed on it properly?"

"Quite sure," Hermione assured her. "Gave me a greater appreciation of just how difficult it is for boys when they have to _go_. I wonder if it's a natural thing, or if they have to be taught to aim the flow just right?"

"Who knows?" Sue laughed mirthlessly. "It's taking ages, though. Maybe it's defective, like your husband! Merlin ... I bet he could beat his best sex duration record before that strip turns a funny colour from your piss. What's the standard time for that premature ejaculating fuckwit, would you say?"

"It barely lasts five minutes these days ... and there's always more _minutes than inches_ , if you get my point ... so I suppose I should be thankful for _small_ miracles, really!"

Sue snorted bitterly at that. "Lucky you. I have to put up with Blaise ... and that bastard is a fucking _athlete_ in the bedroom. Hung like a Thestral, too, worse luck. I tell you, when he sticks it up my arse ... as a _treat_ ... I can barely walk for days afterwards."

"Sue! Please! I don't need to hear this!"

"But maybe you should have tried it! If you'd played Ron a little better, perhaps this minor _mishap_ might not have happened."

Hermione scoffed. "I can just about not strangle myself, having to endure the two-and-a-half minutes of missionary, and two inches of _Ron_ , I have to put up with every month. I am _not_ encouraging more positions, definitely not offering more _holes_. For fuck's sake, Sue, you're supposed to be supporting me here!"

"I am," said Sue. "I'm just saying ... I never let Blaise _finish_ in any part of me that might lead to babies. He's still a _man_ ... he thinks it's kinkier that way. I think I'd rather slit my own throat than have his seed quicken in my womb, so I keep them as far apart as possible."

"That attitude will get you killed," said Hermione, warningly. "You can't put it off for long, if you have any idea of living beyond Thirty. You know the law."

Sue huffed outside the door. "Well, you don't seem exactly _thrilled_ , yourself ... that you and Ron might have to start playing at being _Mummy and Daddy_ soon. As if pretending to be a loving wife wasn't hard enough ..."

Hermione shuddered at the notion. _I'm not pregnant, I'm not pregnant ... I cast the Contraceptive Charm quickly enough ..._

"Anyway," Sue went on. "I thought your Bedding Rite was only carried out last week? Why the fuck did you sleep with him again before you had to?"

Hermione sucked in a breath, and swallowed hard at the memory. She reached into her handbag on instinct, to touch up the concealer over her black eye. Susan was three sheets to the wind from pre-drinks before they'd even met that night. She hadn't noticed so far ...

"It wasn't by choice."

Susan stopped her foot tapping at once. Hermione could hear the tone of her breathing change. It was rapid, angry now.

"Min ... did he ... did he hurt you again?"

Hermione gave a mirthless chuckle. "He isn't _big enough_ to hurt me, Sue."

"But he did _force_ you?" Susan asked, gently.

Hermione sighed. "You know he pretty much _always_ forces me, if I haven't just given in first."

"Min ... open the door. Right now."

Hermione stood, reluctantly. She raised a shaking hand, and looked at the pregnancy test she was holding ... and took a happy, relieved breath. It was _negative_. She smiled broadly, then pulled her underwear and jeans up with a new sense of vibrancy running through her. Then she unlocked the door.

And screamed in terror ... for Ron was standing before her, holding Susan's severed head in his hand.

"Bitch! You think I've forced you before ... I'll make you _wish_ I was that gentle again!"

* * *

Hermione screamed again and woke, kicking and screaming against the confines of her quilt, which were pinning her in. She was stupefied by sleep, still held by the potency of the bad dream. Her nightie was soaked in sweat, her mind so shaken that she couldn't get her bearings at first. She was lost, afraid, and shivering violently from the cold engulfing her.

Then there was a swirl of hot air nearby ... and Hermione was being scooped up into strong, protective arms ... arms that simply _refused_ to let her be afraid anymore. They hugged her so tightly, so lovingly, she couldn't breathe for it. Waves of adoring energy were flowing into her, making her giddy with happiness ... and turning her rumbling fear into animalistic lust. She turned her head and bit wantonly into the flesh she found there, nibbled at a downy-haired nipple, grazed her teeth against the solid muscle of a chest so familiarly scented ...

Then Hermione snapped her head up in surprise.

"Harry!"

"It's alright ... ssshhh ... I'm here now, I'm here ... ssshhh, it's okay ... I've got you, you're safe now ... ssshhh ..."

Damned fucking _Merlin_ it was alright!

Harry was naked to the waist, cradling Hermione in his surprisingly firm hold, as he whispered soothingly into her hair. Hermione played up being still in the throes of her anguish, nuzzling her head against the exposed skin of Harry's body. He was astonishingly solid, built far more powerfully than she had imagined. Hermione thrilled at that. For some reason, she'd imagined all Harry's new power to be in his magic alone, and didn't expect it to extend to his physicality, too. But how wrong she was! Harry was not athlete-muscle, but he was toned, defined ... and Hermione's lust threatened to overwhelm her as she tentatively explored it.

"I _know_ you're feeling better," Harry teased down, sultrily. "You're a terrible actress."

Hermione sat up and blushed. "Harry ... you're so ... _fit!_ "

Harry laughed at her. "No need to sound _so_ surprised ..."

"Sorry," said Hermione, quickly. "I just didn't think ..."

"What ... that I took care of myself?" Harry quirked, lightly. "There's a causal link between physical health and magical potency, you know. I got into the habit in Germany. Dietmar was an Olympic-level _demon_ on the gymnastic rings. Built like a brick shithouse, to boot. I'm too sinewy for all that, but I get my wiry arse as trim as I can. I cheat, obviously, through mediation and yoga rituals. But it works well enough."

"Fuck me, does it! And then some!" Hermione swooned. She traced a finger down Harry's chest, frowning in pity as she ran her nail around the outline of the scar left by the Locket Horcrux all those years ago. She had one herself, of course, but it wasn't anything like as pronounced. Harry flinched a little as Hermione touched the scar tissue. "Sorry. Does it still hurt?"

"No," Harry grinned. "It's just very _ticklish_!"

"Oh, _really!"_ Hermione squealed, her eyes flashing brightly. "I had no _idea!_ But now that I _do ..."_

And with that, she pounced on him, tickling Harry at every spot her fingertips could reach. Harry responded in kind, flipping Hermione onto her back and drawing giggly tears where he was so relentless in his playful attack. In a last attempt at victory, Hermione captured Harry's mouth passionately with her own ... then she reached down and grabbed at the drawstring of his pyjama bottoms. Harry pulled his head back, panting throatily ... and their gazes met for a breathless moment. The air turned dense with a thrumming, white-hot energy. It caused the petals of Hermione's flowers to wilt on the windowsill. Her breasts heaved with wanton desire ... she reached up to unbutton the neckline of her nightie ... then Harry snatched out, grabbing her hand to stop her progress.

"No ... I'm not doing this now ... not after something like _this_ ," he said, strongly but breathily.

Hermione's loins mewled in protest and she arched her back in her frustration, sending the moan racing up to her throat. She tried to reach lower again ... but Harry was determined. He eased her hand back up, firmly but gently.

"I said _no,"_ he repeated, lowly. "Now, tell me what happened? Why did you scream?"

Hermione huffed, slightly angry, and covered herself up moodily. Why would Harry come to her rescue like this, in the middle of the night, in her _bed_ , if he wasn't going to see it through? He sensed the rise in her ire, and backed away, easing his grip on her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry muttered, quietly. "I just don't want it like this. It feels _wrong_ ... and you've had it wrong so much ... I wont do it till it's _right_ , no matter how cross it makes you with me."

Hermione felt her heart bleed, and it took every ounce of her frustration with the flow. Her heart pulsed with such love for Harry in that moment ... she couldn't have articulated it no matter how hard she might have tried.

She scooted back over him, taking her rightful place back in his embrace, kissing him shyly by way of apology. "Oh, _Harry_... is that what this is?"

Harry looked down and nodded, bothering the corner of the quilt with his fingers. "Yeah, it is. I want you _so_ _badly,_ Hermione ... you have to believe that. But I don't want any part of it to be _bad ..._ for _you ..._ when it happens. Not during, not after ... and not even _before_. I can't stand the thought of our love-making being powered by one of our darknesses ... so I wont allow it. I'm not going to sleep with you to make you forget your pain ... or to try and get over a nightmare about Ron. Because that's what this was, wasn't it?"

Hermione sighed. "It wasn't a _real_ nightmare, not like the last one. But Ron was in it, yes. He's just on my mind, or my nerves, because of that bloody press conference, that's all."

Harry looked at her, dark rage stirring behind his eye. "I felt how much he frightens you, when you saw him. How long has it been like that?"

Hermione took a heavy breath. "Ever since my wedding night."

Harry snatched out at her, drawing her so close, so emotionally close, that their magic _collided_. Then, something really odd happened ...

... for every nuance of Harry's magic seemed to _reach out_ for Hermione's.

They both felt it, looking at each other in utter astonishment. And both reflected a breathless shiver that passed through them. They were powerless against what was happening. Harry gave to it first, somehow Hermione felt that, as though the subconscious part of her mind, connected to her magic, felt Harry's submission. Hermione gave in as instantly as she could in response.

And then their magic actually _touched ..._ it entwined, practically _fusing_ them for a moment.

Hermione had forgotten how to breathe. Her heart was racing ridiculously fast, and every inch of her skin seemed to be fluttering. Her stomach was doing cartwheels and her knickers were so damp that there was a trickle of moisture running down her inner thigh. And she could feel something very firm and solid, quite different from Harry's solid body elsewhere, lodged against the side of her leg. Her eyes widened as she assessed the dimensions, only partially pressed into her thigh. And an astonished thought hit her.

 _She was going to need a_ _bigger boat!_

Harry was looking guilty and ashamed of himself, as though he'd broken his word to not cross one of Hermione's intimacy lines without permission. He tried to move away ... but Hermione snatched him straight back.

"Don't you even _dare!"_ Hermione breathed, sternly. "We wont do anything, Harry ... but you can still hold me. You can let me feel _that ..._ to give me something to look forward to!"

Harry glanced awkwardly at her. He seemed so scared, lost in a new world that was as frightening as it was exciting. He looked unspeakably young and _achingly_ vulnerable. Hermione couldn't quite qualify his look with the new, powerful man she was falling so deeply, so badly, in love with. His body tensed, his eye fluttered with fear.

"If ... if that's what you want," Harry stuttered nervously, his voice strangely cracked. It was as if the connection of their magic had exposed all of Harry's fragilities in one go.

Hermione coaxed Harry close to her. "Come here ... I just want you to hold me. That's all I want."

"I can do that."

So he did, warm and tender, that astonishing firmness growing ever more pronounced as he pressed closer to the heat of her body. Hermione was half mindless at the embrace ... and beyond thrilled that she was able to arouse Harry to this level of potency. It stoked those long-forgotten aspects of her womanhood, made her feel ridiculously sexy and attractive, that she could drive Harry to bursting point without really doing very much at all. Her mind and loins flipped into excited cartwheels as she thought about just how much more there was to come ... excusing the pun! It was such a promising future now.

But besides the sexual aspect, Hermione was certain she'd never felt as close to Harry as she did just now, as though she'd somehow broken through his most delicate of boundaries without even knowing it. She was fiercely keen not to spook him, having got this close, this intimate. So she kept her promise to just hold him, smoothing his hair to keep her hands busy and just enjoying the sensation of him simply breathing in comfort on her shoulder.

Hermione was shyly astonished at the situation. She'd been abused, been raped, been exposed to the sexual deviancy _expected_ of a senior Death Eater ... but _Harry_ was the reticent one here, the one fearful in the face of _her_. It was so fundamentally backwards in Hermione's mind that she honestly struggled to process it. He was the one holding back, the one terrified of things going too far, or going so fast that he'd get them wrong and jeopardise this wonderful thing that they had started to build together. It was yet another fear that Hermione was crazily mindless to relieve him of.

She could only think of one thing to say that might make him feel better.

"Harry ... I love you."

Harry _actually_ stopped breathing at her words for a full twelve seconds ... his body tense as if under an oppressive curse. And he was so close that Hermione could see his pulse hammering relentlessly in his neck, his throat full from dry shock. He just didn't know of any way to respond to Hermione's oddly-timed declaration. She watched him a moment, waiting for a response, then understanding immediately that he was utterly incapable of anything of the sort.

Because, as Hermione realised with a sob, Harry had never been told he was _loved_ before.

She caught him before he broke down, dragging him into the most tender hug she could muster. Harry just fell deeper into her shoulder and cried. And cried. Hermione held him close and just let him weep, providing him with the warm, safe place he needed to do just that. She felt each heave of his chest, each wave of unbridled emotion, as if Harry had made them just for her. They weren't tears of sadness, but of overpowering _joy ..._ the sort of joy that Harry didn't think he was owed, but for which Hermione couldn't imagine anyone more worthy.

And she hugged him with everything she had just to tell him so. Harry simply throbbed in her arms, responding physically where words had failed him. Hermione felt her essence melt into Harry's again, and she felt full up with this bliss. She wished she had more room for it. Harry need never return her declaration, for she knew unequivocally that he felt the same, even if he was unable to tell her.

But Harry Potter was _nothing_ if not a master of his weaknesses.

"I love you, too."

Hermione was sent so light-headed at hearing the words that she almost fainted. For she had never heard any four words spoken together with more sincerity. And Harry was saying them to _her_... and making it sound like he was _blessed_ to be able to do so. What was Hermione supposed to say to _that!?_

So she began to cry, too, for she had forgotten what it was to hear that she was loved, herself. She was overwhelmed by the sensation, the immense joy it inspired, something she'd believed was long lost to the world. But here it was, flowing back and forth between Harry's heart and her own, warm and renewing, growing intensely with each cycle, and just the most insanely lovely thing in existence.

Hermione smiled through her tears. "Will you shag me _now?"_

Harry laughed and pulled her closer. "Hermione ... I'd last about twelve seconds! You deserve so much more!"

"But what a twelve seconds they'd be!" Hermione giggled, clutching so hard at Harry's chest she might have been trying to crush him. "Seriously, Harry ... you cant keep me waiting like this. I might explode!"

Harry chortled. "You can still do transfiguration, can't you? Be imaginative."

Hermione scoffed in response. "If I wanted a dildo, Harry, I'd knock on Ann's door. She has _loads_ , apparently. I'm holding out for the real thing."

"Tonight's not the night," Harry told her gently. "It's not just your nightmare ... the palace has a weird air about it tonight ... I don't like it."

Just then, Sally popped into view. She looked curiously at Hermione, and Harry half-naked next to her. She covered her eyes.

"Ah, Lady Hermione, yous awake, good," said Sally. "Yous friend, Miss Susie, be waking. Lady Longbottom thought you should know. Master Harry ... put some clothes on!"

Hermione blushed, but Harry just shrugged at the elf. "Sally, can you take Hermione to the infirmary to see Susan? I'll just get dressed and join you there."

"Getting dressed be for the best, Master Harry," said Sally. "Your boobies be showing!"

Harry laughed. "I'm not ashamed of my _baby A's,_ Sally. But, you're right. I'll make myself decent."

And with that, he stood up and Apparated away. Sally took her hand away from her eyes, and looked at Hermione with a scandalised expression.

"Lady Hermione!" she admonished, shrilly. "You naughty witch! It not be your wedding night, or anything!"

Hermione giggled. "I don't think I can wait that long, Sally. But nothing happened tonight, I promise."

"Didn't look like nothing ..."

"I'd just had a nightmare," Hermione tried to explain. "Harry was trying to make me feel better. He _loves_ me, do you know?"

"World and his dog be knowing _that,_ Lady Hermione," said Sally, off-handedly. "Yous must be the last to know."

"But isn't it _wonderful_?" said Hermione, dreamily.

"Lady Hermione make Master Harry smile," said Sally. "That not be wonder ... it be _miracle_. But Lady Hermione be needed downstairs. Up, now, and we go."

Hermione obeyed the command, rising from bed and grabbing her dressing gown, before Sally spirited them to the infirmary.

* * *

The scene inside was borderline chaos. Enola's mother, Arianwen, was trying to calm Susan, who was thrashing about in something of a panic. There were two other, older witches, who Hermione had never met, standing with their wands ready nearby, in case Sue got so bad she needed sedating. Enola was on the other side of the bed with Cassie, who was holding a potion vial in her hand.

"Get it out! Get it out of me!"

Susan was screeching in angry torment. Hermione was shocked at the vitriol of her tone. She caught Enola's eye, and Neville's wife coaxed her forward with a thankful look.

"Try and see if you can get through to her," Enola encouraged. "She's practically _wild_ when the rest of us try."

Hermione hurried to Susan's bedside. "Sue! Sue! It's me! It's Hermione."

Susan stilled almost instantly as Hermione reached her, looking at her in utter disbelief.

"M-Min ... is that really _you_?" Susan stammered.

"Does it feel like me?" asked Hermione, darting in and giving Susan a bone-crunching bear hug, only matched in terms of intensity by the one she received in return.

"It is you! I'd know those perky tits anywhere!"

"For fucks sake, Sue!" Hermione laughed.

"Harry told me you were alive, but I didn't believe it!" Sue cried. Then she gasped out loud, as if suddenly remembering a juicy secret. "Oh, Min ... _Harry Potter is alive!_ Do you know? Have you seen him? You must have, he said you were here ... wherever _here_ is ..."

"I have seen him, but only _really_ close up," Hermione quipped, smirking as she drew away.

Susan gaped at her shrewdly. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that she knows the texture of his tongue just as well as the contours of his forehead," said Enola, grinning.

Hermione blushed and glowered at her. "How do _you_ know? Harry and I are always really discreet ..."

"Oh come _on,_ Min," said Enola. "Do you really think that Harry goes anywhere in the house or grounds where he _isn't_ monitored? We take it in turns watching the soft-core porn shows you two put on. _Hot as fuck_ , by the way. Just saying. If you ever fancy a third wheel ...

"In any case, the house practically _ignit_ es when you two go for one of your _walks_... seriously, Cassie sexually _fainted_ the other day, just because she was too dense to run outside when you two vanished into Harry's secret copse ..."

Cassie blushed. "Guilty as charged. I didn't run very fast, to be honest. I get less action than Ennie, here ... and that's saying something. It was pretty much a freebie orgasm for me, and who can ever have too many of those!?"

Enola frowned at her. "Nev's just having some issues right now ... being a Daddy _affects_ men like that sometimes ..."

Hermione cocked her head curiously at Enola, who looked away with a deep flush. Hermione shook the inference off for now, but she knew a good potion that might help with that ...

Speaking of potions, Cassie was tying to offer one to Susan. "This is just a Calming Draught. It will help, I promise."

Susan looked questioningly to Hermione for guidance. Hermione nodded at her to accept the potion, which she then took and downed. Then she turned back to Hermione.

"So ... Harry Potter is back from the grave ... and you've been to bed with him already? That's fast work, Min!"

"Harry and I aren't sleeping together," Hermione corrected.

" _Yet,_ " Enola quipped with a filthy wink. "But the wedding night cant be far off."

Susan's eyebrows nearly took off from her forehead. She threw another questioning look at Hermione. _"Wedding night?"_

Hermione shook her head with a cross sort of huff. " _Mrs_ _Longbottom_ , here, likes to exaggerate a little."

"I do not," Enola returned, mildly affronted. "But if you want to suggest a different explanation, for Harry disappearing off to his forge earlier with only enough metal in his pockets to make a small object like ... oh, I don't know ... a ring, perhaps? ... then I'm all ears."

Hermione's eyebrows joined Sue's on the ceiling. Enola just hooted out a laugh at her. Hermione couldn't right her racing mind at that. It was crazy, it was insane ... it was ... it was ... what was it? Hermione couldn't focus. The image was just too mind-blowing, but so wonderful at the same time. Her heart wanted to take flight. The thought of Harry, out in the middle of the grounds, forging a wedding ring for her, loving her with every chink of his hammer, promising her his love in the band he was making ... it swept all her breath away in one go.

Hermione tugged hard at the infernal piece of ugly copper that was on her finger already. It was _so_ in the way! There had to be some method of removing it, even if it meant cutting her whole finger off! For if, in some insanely mental reality, Harry proposed, got down on one knee and offered her the ring he had so caringly made, then she would accept so readily, so _joyously_ , that she would probably implode with the frustration at not being able to wear the piece of jewellery that announced it to the world. But the other ring would make that exact thing happen.

And she had never hated Ronald Weasley more acridly than she did right then. She was reasonably convinced that no wife had ever hated a despised husband quite as much she did hers right then.

But she was about to be given stiff competition.

For Sue was talking again, quite lucid under the influence of Cassie's powerful calming draught.

"So ... you're saying it's too late to stop it? I'm stuck with the damned thing? You cant get it out?"

"No. You're too far gone," said Arianwen, stepping forward to field the question.

Sue huffed and nodded. "I see."

"What's going on?" asked Hermione. "To late to stop _what_?"

"We've conducted extensive tests on your friend," Arianwen explained. "And it is quite certain ... she is _with child_."

Hermione gasped, knowing how hard the phrase must have been for her friend to hear. No wonder Sue was so incensed! She had lost all colour from her face, her drawn skin now looking the grey of day-old porridge.

"Oh ... _Sue!"_

 _"_ I don't _want_ it, Min," she hissed. "But it's too late to stop, apparently. I have that fucker's spawn kicking me in the guts as we speak. Like father, like son, I suppose."

She laughed heartlessly.

"Sue ... I ... we can, when it comes out ... oh, Sue! ... I don't know what to say, I really don't!" Hermione stuttered desperately.

"We should be thankful," said Arianwen. "If it wasn't for the amniotic fluid from the womb, we may never have a forged a potion potent enough to heal your wounds."

"Yeah, I'm really _grateful_ ," Susan spat bitterly in reply. She stood, and tried to walk away. Arianwen moved to stop her, protesting that she needed rest, but Susan shrugged her off. "I'm as stiff as a board after all that sleep ... I just need to stretch my legs a minute ... pity I couldn't have kept them _closed_ , eh ..."

Hermione saw what happened next in horrifying slow motion, but was unable to react fast enough to stop it. Susan limped to a nearby table, where a probe-wand was sat on a silver dish. In a quick movement, which defied her injuries, Susan pulled Cassie's wand from her waistband, and transfigured the probe into a deadly, serrated-blade knife ...

... a knife she began angrily driving in and out of her belly.

The place descended into anarchy. Blood spewed out like a furious fountain from Susan's vigorous stabbing. Hermione was frozen at the sight, held fast through shock and the assorted screams and cries issuing forth from everyone else. Cassie yelled, and tried to retrieve her wand, but that blade was _very_ sharp. Enola pulled her friend back, then cried out for Susan to stop, as the other healers tried to move around behind her.

But Susan wouldn't stop. Her eyes were manic, her ugly determination to destroy the life growing inside her was her only imperative. She was looking woozy ... she had lost so much blood. It was _everywhere ..._ some was even on _Hermione_. She tried fruitlessly to rub it off, but Sue just kept thrusting that huge blade deeper into her womb. Someone had to stop her before she killed _herself,_ too ... there was an angry gush of wind nearby ... and ...

 _"Stupefy!_ "

Harry's spell knocked Sue clean off her feet and the knife fell to the floor with a clatter. He rushed forward and lifted her up, carrying her back to the bed. He cast healing spells so fast and so powerfully that they caused a breeze in the room. It made Hermione's hair stand on end. Enola joined him and soon their wands were almost like duelling chopsticks, doing all they could to repair the damage. After a few minutes, they stopped and drew breath.

Hermione edged forward, pressing close to Harry. "Is she ..."

"She'll live," Harry breathed, angrily. He sounded as if he'd just run a marathon to escape a horde of Dementors.

"But ... the baby ... the baby's ... _dead,_ " Enola whispered, heavily. "There's nothing we could have done ..."

Harry roared in frustration. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, pulling his back into her chest. Harry heaved in her arms, roiling in ... _something_... Hermione couldn't pick apart his emotions just then.

"It isn't your fault, Harry," Enola cooed, soothingly. "You did your best ..."

 _"Don't talk to him in that tone!"_ Hermione thought jealously. It was _her_ job to calm him, _not_ Neville's wife! Hermione needed Enola to back off just now, and they shared a swift, uncharacteristically ugly glance that communicated all that in barely a second. Enola seemed rattled by wary surprise.

"Come on, Harry," said Hermione, turning him away from Enola. "Let's get out of here."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry breathed, slamming his eye shut in his anguish. "I tried ..."

"I know ... and you were _brilliant_ ," said Hermione. "As always. You saved Sue's life."

"But the baby's ..."

" _She_ took it," said Hermione, gently. "She didn't want it, but she will have to deal with what she's done. You've given her the chance to do that ... whether she wants it or not."

Harry turned and pressed his forehead tight to Hermione's, speaking lowly so only she could hear him. "That might have been you ... with Ron, after that dream you just had ... if you had tried ... or _Sue_ had tried for you ... and I wouldn't have been there to help ..."

Harry tailed off, couldn't finish the sentence. The images were just too distressing for him.

Hermione shuddered. "Have you been watching my dreams?"

"Don't hate me ... I just want to protect you," said Harry, lowly. "Ron can get to you in that way, I think. It's one of the spells we cant remove from you ... I _felt_ him invade you tonight. That's why I came when I did. I was upstairs, waiting for when it happened."

Hermione's jaw fell open. Ron could _invade_ her dreams? Even though he was so far away? Hermione felt dirty, violated ... she wanted to take the longest shower to wash the creeping sensation from her skin. But. at the same time, the idea that Harry was in her dreams too ... in ways that he wasn't already, of course ... was a source of insane comfort to her.

"Harry ... can you stop him?" Hermione asked, timidly. "Stop him doing that?"

"I'm _trying_ ," Harry whined, as though begging for forgiveness for failing her again. "But I can't seem to define the connection, let alone break it. At this point, I have more chance of _exploiting_ it at this end than I have of keeping him out."

"Exploiting it? How?"

"By _catching_ Ron when he enters your mind ... and doing unspeakable damage to _his_ if I do."

Hermione coiled her arms possessively around Harry, in that way that only _she_ was allowed to do. She felt an ugly sort of hope settle on her ... she _dearly_ hoped that Enola - and all the other bitches in the room - were watching their embrace ... and that they knew who the boss witch was around this place now. No-one was to come as close to Harry as her anymore ... not a single one of them.

"Harry, if that's even _possible_ , then do it," Hermione whispered to him. "Don't waste your time trying to keep him out ... if you can _hurt_ him when he's in my mind, let's find a way to bring him to _us_. Let's bring him to _our_ domain ... and beat the very _Weasley_ out of him!"

* * *

Harry sat in front of his mother's headstone, trying to bring order to his fractured mind. He'd forgotten how long he'd been sat there this time, for he'd lost any concept of time, could no longer track the passage of seconds and minutes as they ticked by. All he could focus on was the scene from the infirmary ... the blood, the chaos ...

... and the screams of the baby he couldn't save.

They were haunting him, plaguing his mind, both waking and in sleep. At least, what little sleep he had managed in the past few days. He was listless, dazed, unable to snap himself out of this stupor.

Even his wand felt quiet. Usually, he was pointedly aware of his magical instrument. It thrummed gently at his side, then ignited when he had need of it. But now, it felt dormant.

As though it, too, were guilty of failing the murdered infant ... its powerful carved runes drowned silent by the blood of the lost innocence.

Even Hermione's soothing words had failed to soften the blow. She had tried so hard, bless her, to free him from his dark mood. To tell him that Susan didn't want the baby, that her hatred of Zabini was so great that she, herself, should have seen the extreme reaction coming. She told him, over and over, that it wasn't his fault, there was nothing more he could have done.

But she couldn't hear the screams ...

For Harry had tried something he _never_ did in healing, something he had always been taught to avoid at all costs. He tried to pass his _own_ magic to the child to try and preserve its life. It was more intimate than simply using spells or runic casting. It used his own life-force to try and save another. It failed, because the damage was too extreme ... but the brief connection he'd had to the little boy was so harrowing, Harry now felt emotionally damaged from the experience.

For the child had called out in potent fear, in anguish, in intense pain. Begged for help, to be allowed the chance to live, tugging hopelessly, frantically, at the life-cord Harry was dangling to him from his own, as he tried everything he knew to provide that chance. But he hadn't been good enough.

And when the child expired, Harry felt a little piece of himself die with it.

Or, at least, that was how it felt. Like having a hole in the heart. One no amount of cajoling from Hermione, or trying to see things from Sue's perspective, seemed to touch for comfort. Harry felt wounded, broken, and desperate for any kind of respite from this restless misery. Respite he had resorted to seeking from _beyond the grave_.

Just then, movement drew Harry's attention from his dark melancholia, and he reached for his wand on instinct.

"Don't shoot ... it's just me."

Hermione was trying to be light-hearted, but her _heart_ wasn't really in it. Her tone betrayed that, or maybe Harry's bleak state of mind was radiating off him like a bad smell, infecting her, too.

Harry looked up as Hermione tentatively approached. "Hey."

"Hey," she repeated, sitting slowly at his side. She placed a tray on the ground between them. "I brought you some toast and pumpkin juice. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've not been eating."

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. Eat."

Harry flicked his eye up her, an expression half-amused, half-annoyed. But he thought he'd better force down a piece of toast, before he was properly told off.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled out through his _second_ slice. Turns out he actually _was_ hungry.

"You're very welcome," Hermione replied, breezily. Then she sighed with heavy sadness. "Still thinking about it?"

Harry breathed in, heavily. "Yeah."

Hermione nodded in recognition of their shared feelings. "Me too. But why have you come _here_?"

Hermione inclined her head around the mausoleum as she posed her query. 

"Suppose I'm just looking to my mother for guidance," said Harry, his eye fixed on the headstone again. "For a way to deal with the loss of such an innocent life. But was it really so innocent, when it was made out of such hatred? From an act so forced and negative? That's not how _I'd_ have liked to start life, I don't think. But I bet there are so many kids out there now who _have_. How have things come to this state, Hermione?"

"It's the world Tom Riddle wants to cultivate, Harry," said Hermione, gently. "One where fear and hate are the norm. One you and I are going to tear down and burn."

Harry's heart stirred at that. "How's Sue? I hear she came round this morning. Again."

"Oddly, she seems fine," said Hermione. "She doesn't have one ounce of remorse. It's chilling, I'm not going to lie. But she might still be in shock over everything. It will sink in one day."

"I've arranged for her to have a room in the North Wing, near the roundtower. It's quiet in that part of the palace. I think she might need that, while she comes to terms and tries to adjust to life around here. I've assigned Phebos, Rhian's other daughter, to look after her. She's a bit older than Sally ... she'll be better dealing with her fragility."

"Thanks, Harry. That's really kind of you."

Harry nodded, but continued to just stare at the headstone. He might as well have been looking through it. His gaze was distant, his mind unable to focus on any one point. He sighed again.

"This has really cut to you, hasn't it?" asked Hermione. She quested her hand towards his forearm. She seemed nervous again, as though not sure if she was still allowed to touch him when he was in this state. Harry wanted to assure her that she still had permission.

Her touch was the only thing that calmed him right now.

Harry reached out and took Hermione's hands, threading their fingers together, hoping to communicate the message that he didn't possess the vocabulary to convey. It was curious, he thought, how well their digits fit together like that as he looked at them. They might have been designed that way, really. It chinked a shaft of light through his dark cocoon.

"It's just ... I came back to make this place a haven, to _preserve_ life," Harry tried to explain. "This was the first _death_ here. I don't know ... I suppose it's just rocked me a little. The nature of it ... the poor victim. I'm supposed to _prevent_ things like this. Maybe _I'm_ a little in shock that I wasn't able to."

"Maybe you are," said Hermione, smoothing the back of Harry's palm with her thumb. "But you couldn't have prevented what happened. Sue was determined ... if she hadn't done it when she did, then it would have happened later. And at least you were able to save her life ... Enola, too."

Harry turned his head to look Hermione in the face. "You were jealous of her after it. _Bitterly_ jealous."

He framed the words half-questioningly, as though genuinely astonished at them.

"How could you tell?" Hermione asked.

"Your mood swung like a pendulum," said Harry. "It was like a rancid spear passing through me. What makes you so jealous of Ennie?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione huffed. "Aside from the fact that she's goddess-level beautiful and sexy as fuck, she has this deep connection to you that I know very little about, nor share my own personal version of with you. I know you have your secrets, Harry, and that she's married to Neville ... but there's just this way that she looks at you, and the way you look back ... you clearly have an intimate past together ... and I don't like it. There, I said it ... I'm _rabidly_ jealous of her. Are you happy?"

Harry closed his eye and sighed wearily. "No, of course I wouldn't be, when you're so obviously upset by this. Enola and I are beyond friends, I've explained that to you. You're just going to have to trust that while, yes, she's important to me, nobody in the whole damned world is more important to me than _you_. I don't know how else to say it."

"Will you ever explain to me _why_ you're so close to her?"

"One day," Harry promised. "But my darkest issues are wrapped up in the story ... and it will be a hard one for me to tell. My wounds go deep, Hermione, far beyond the scars on my surface. Just know that, without Enola's help, I may never have taken the first steps to climb out of the well they created, and that she made personal sacrifices of her own as part of that assistance. We bonded deeply through them. But, seriously, she isn't a threat to you."

Hermione scoffed. "A woman _that_ gorgeous will be a threat to anyone."

Harry chuckled. "There's probably just as much of a chance of her sleeping with _you_ as there is with _me!_ "

"I wouldn't be entirely against that idea," Hermione teased sultrily, making Harry break out in tickly goosebumps. "And she did offer ..."

Harry shivered deliciously. "It's tempting, but I'm not having a foursome. Going bareback with Neville has never made it to the list I send to Father Christmas!"

Hermione burst out laughing. It was the sweetest sound. It improved Harry's mood no end.

"At the risk of steering the conversation back towards the _morbid,_ " Hermione began, once she'd calmed down. "But I've been thinking ... I was wondering if you'd be prepared to do me quite a weird favour, seeing as I'm ' _your moon, your stars and everything in between'_ ... or however it was that you put it the other day! Let's just call me the love of your life, shall we?"

"You can bribe me with _that_ anytime you like," Harry grinned to her. "What do you need?"

"It's not so much a _need_ ..." Hermione began, nervously. "But it's just that ... my _parents_ , Harry ... I was never told what happened to them. Well, I know what _happened_ ... but I never found out where their remains ended up. I'd like to find them ... maybe bring them here, if you'd allow it. Give them a proper burial, maybe? They wouldn't need much space ... just a little corner over by the orchard or something, where the sun comes up first thing every morning ... but if this is just for your family ..."

"Your parents _are_ my family," said Harry, passionately. "Or maybe, when I'm quite sure you aren't going to realise the colossal mistake you're making in being with me, I will _make_ them my family. _Posthumous parents-in-law_ , if you will!"

Hermione gasped and simply stared at him, smiling. "Planning on making our arrangement permanent then, are you?"

"Hermione ... I'm a King. I need a _Queen_. And there's only one woman who I want in that role, if she's silly enough to consider me."

Hermione leaned in and hugged Harry tightly. "In that case, your Queen would like you to find the ones who murdered her parents, kill them if they aren't already dead, then find her parent's bones and bring them here so we can bury them properly. Please."

"Consider it done, my Lady," said Harry. "I think a plot next to Mum and Dad would be nice."

"Harry ... you don't have to do _that_ ," Hermione breathed, shyly. "This place is for _your_ parents, you don't ..."

" ... which is why yours should be right next to them!" Harry insisted, cutting her off. "It's where they belong. _A corner by the orchard!_ Don't be so silly. They'll sleep in the mausoleum with the rest of the family. Don't even try and argue ... my decision is final on this."

"Okay, Harry ... if you're sure."

"Completely sure. I'll have one of my elves prepare a plot right away."

"Thank you, Harry. I love you," Hermione sighed breathily, placing a kiss to as much of Harry's lips as his shawl would allow. "How will you even find them?"

"The round-ups had to have been organised, co-ordinated," said Harry. "Your parent's names must have been on a list somewhere. I assume they were deposited into one of the mass graves?"

Hermione paled, and nodded.

"There aren't that many of them," said Harry. "Each one must have been assigned an executioner, and someone to bury the bodies. Either way, I'll find the culprits ... and they'll take your parent's place in the dirt."

"If I ever forget to tell you, I really love your dark side," Hermione swooned. "Well, I love all your sides, actually. But your dark one might be my favourite. It's easily the hottest."

"Really?" Harry smirked. "Well, in that case, I'm feeling rather dark right now. Let's take a walk ... somewhere my parents wont see!"

Hermione giggled, then allowed Harry to lead her into the wilderness of the grounds, where he had every intention of leading her astray.


	17. The Dark King's Gambit

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry disappeared for three whole days, which made Hermione very cross. He didn't tell her specifically where he had gone, but she pretty much knew his intent. She'd asked him for something, and he was such an insanely lovely boyfriend, or whatever his role might be called these days, that he wouldn't rest until he'd delivered it for her. Her heart swooped at the very thought, until her intense misery at missing him kicked in and she started calling him names.

Enola had been cool around Hermione for a full week, too. Their little unspoken exchange during Sue Bones' episode in the infirmary had thrown up an awkward tension between the new friends that neither really knew how to get past. Hermione felt terribly guilty for being so possessively jealous, but she wasn't used to having to apologise for something like that, so she didn't know how to go about making amends. Enola, for her part, was simply wary ... if Hermione was anything like _Sue,_ who knew how volatile she was likely to get.

The world outside the wards, for all Enola knew, might have turned all the girls into feral beasts ... and she had her little girl to think of, after all.

So Hermione became lonely very quickly. She focused on helping Sue to settle into her new suite, and filled her in on all things Harry, but the touchy issue of Sue's actions put an unspoken barrier between them, too. Sue seemed keen to steer the conversation towards Hermione and Harry's sex life - which she refused to believe was confined to heavy petting at best - but it was all a fairly obvious front, an avoiding tactic to prevent them confronting the horrors that had taken place in the infirmary.

Susan needed time, to be left alone, to properly process what had happened. Hermione gave her that space, but with Enola giving _her_ a wide berth in return, it left Hermione in something of a social black hole. But then, on the evening of the third day of Harry's absence, Rhian popped into view in her bedroom with a new dress and a message.

"What's that?" asked Hermione, pointing at the dress. It looked to be made of some sort of scaly leather.

"A _proper_ battle-dress for yous," said Rhian, proffering it to her. "Dragonhide for protection, chameleon skin to _blend in_."

Hermione was suddenly taut. "And why would I need either of those things?"

"For yous be going out into the world tonight, Mistress Hermione," said Rhian. "Master Harry be waiting for you. And he wants yous to be safe."

Hermione's breathing changed. Harry was home? Since when? She didn't feel the wards shift as she usually did when he returned.

"I didn't notice Harry coming in," said Hermione. "When did that happen?"

"Half an hour back, maybe less," said Rhian. "He be very serious tonight. He keep his emotions under check. Come along, Mistress, best not leave Master Harry waiting."

Hermione stood and allowed Rhian to help her change into the battle dress. She had noticed how the Head Elf had stopped calling her _Lady,_ in favour of _Mistress_. That spoke quietly to her heart about her subtle change of role, but she barely heard it over the nervous way it was suddenly beating. The air of the house _was_ very serious tonight, Hermione only noticed it now. Perhaps she'd been in such a funk of a mood that she'd switched off her new perceptive ability.

But it was back on with aplomb now, and Hermione shuddered as the low throb of energy settled on her. Harry was worried, she could sense that. She was attuning more and more to the feel of the house when he was around. It was wildly thrilling to be able to tap into these energies so easily now. She didn't think she could possibly get any closer to Harry, in any way bar physical, but every time she thought that, a new way cropped up. That was giddyingly thrilling, too.

And this was the latest one. But, tonight, Hermione was unsettled by it. Harry had never felt this serious, this alert. It was a sobering sensation. It was like he was mentally prepared for a fight, rather than the explosive anger that had spewed from him in Glastonbury. That night, Harry knew there was a _possibility_ they'd run into trouble.

This time, he was absolutely _certain_ that they would.

And that irrefutable truth settled on Hermione like a lead apron. She took a rattling breath to calm her speeding nerves. She steeled herself as she considered her reflection in the mirror. This was _war_ ... this was what it was all about, how it felt. She was supposed to be Harry's Queen ... and Queen's didn't show fear. She would hold her head up, hold her wand firm, and stand at Harry's side. Stand at _her_ _man's_ side ... at her _King's_ side.

And together they would fuck up any fool who dared to threaten them.

She grinned at her reflection for comfort. Actually, she looked good. No ... she looked _better_ than good ... she looked _ready._ The battle-dress was fit to form, and form had never been a problem for Hermione, since she'd filled out in her late teens. The dress needed to be able to move, but to protect her at the same time. She looked like Fan or Ann ... a bad-assed witch to be reckoned with. She felt inordinately pleased with herself as her reflection nodded back its approval.

"Good, it fits," said Rhian. "Come Mistress, time be short."

Rhian offered Hermione a hand and Apparated her to Harry, was who pacing around his Secret Copse. The fountain was softly sprinkling water, and moonlight tinted one side of the space. Harry was moving in and out of the shadows it threw. Hermione hurried to him, as Rhian popped away.

"Well, you've been gone _way_ too long," said Hermione as she reached him. She tugged up his shawl abrasively and planted a deep, full mouth kiss on him. Harry thrust his tongue forwards first, before snatching his arms around Hermione's waist and actually _lifting_ her onto the ledge of the fountain, smothering her in a passionate embrace. Hermione moaned into his mouth ... he always left her a little senseless with the intensity of his kisses.

They broke apart for breath, which came in panting puffs to the both of them. Harry drew Hermione close to him. "You look _gorgeous_ tonight. That dress ... oh my word ... sex. on. a. fucking. _stick_!"

"I've missed you, too!" Hermione giggled into his shoulder, hugging him close. "Where have you _been!?_ And why have you got me all dressed up?"

Harry pulled her away, and dragged his eye up and down her frame several times. Hermione shivered pleasantly with each pass of his gaze over her body, despite the humid night. "It's getting you _dressed down_ I'm thinking about! Seriously ... I was in such a foul mood when I got home ... but, this ... phew! You look hotter than the actual _sun_ , do you know?"

Hermione beamed, then pulled Harry back to her lips. He went without the barest of resistance.

"I don't think I will ever kiss you enough," she said breathily, as they eventually broke apart.

"As long as you don't stop trying," Harry grinned back. "But we do have some serious business to attend to tonight."

Hermione took another steadying gulp of air. "Where are we going?"

"I've met with Narcissa Malfoy," said Harry, guiding Hermione to one of the stone benches by the fountain. "She's set up a meeting with the person who can help us find your parents. Tonight. Hermione ... I don't think I can be any more blatant about this ... going out of the wards is going to be extremely dangerous. I ... I took two more lives in the past few days. It was self-defence, but it is what it is. We are being hunted. You need to be prepared for that."

Hermione scowled crossly. "You were attacked?"

"Yeah."

"And you killed them?"

"I had no choice," said Harry, lowly. He looked cautiously in Hermione's direction.

"I hope you mutilated the fuckers," she said angrily. "How _dare_ they attack you! Were you man or lion?"

"One of each," Harry replied.

"Good. I hope whoever it was suffered."

"Oh ... that much is _certain_."

"And, if we run into trouble tonight, don't hold back on my account," said Hermione, forcefully. Then she aired a shame she'd been carrying for days. "I was _rubbish_ in Glastonbury. I will be better for you, Harry, I promise."

Harry looked at her, confused and startled. "Er ... you saved my life by crushing someone's _entire_ bone structure! If that's your idea of _rubbish_ then I can't wait for you to be good!"

"Oh, it will be a masterpiece of pain," said Hermione. "Seriously, Harry, the idea of someone threatening you ... it makes me crazed ... worse than that ... _demonic_."

Harry laughed. "Then come, my little demon, we don't want to be late."

Harry stood, offered Hermione his hand, and they walked together to the edge of the wards and out into the world.

And Hermione felt like she'd been soaked by a bucket of ice. She sucked in a breath.

"They know we're out, don't they?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. But I've reconfigured the exit portal to deposit us miles away from the palace. They'll never zero in on the place. Come on."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione, scurrying behind in Harry's wake.

"A little country pub," Harry explained. "It's secluded, off the beaten track. We will have an hour at best till Riddle's tracking teams locate us. Neville and Owain have been working on disrupting the charms on Magical Movement, but the spells are dense. It's a shot in the dark if we can be effective against them."

"So that's why we're running cross country on foot?" Hermione smirked at him.

"Something like that," Harry volleyed back with a grin.

Hermione continued to follow Harry. She didn't feel at all afraid any more, despite the risk. Harry's mere presence was just immensely protective. She was sure nothing could hurt her if Harry was nearby. It was a little exhilarating, to be defying the oppression she knew so well. She could almost bounce for the restless energy flowing through her. She didn't think resistance would feel this _good_. If she had, she considered rationally, she might have butchered Ron in his sleep years ago.

That brought a dark smile to her lips.

They hurried on through the night for ten minutes or so. This really was an out of the way pub, wherever it was. _Rural_ didn't even touch the sides of the definition. Just as Hermione was about to question Harry's judgement on their location, they came over the rise of a shallow hill and the pub emerged before them.

It was called _The Skirrid Inn_. It was an old coaching inn, complete with ancient stonework and a rusty sign, which swung in a light breeze with a satisfyingly atmospheric squeak. The courtyard looked like something from a ghost story. Hermione loved it, with its deep shadows and original cobblestone driveway.

Inside, the inn was quaint and cosy. Warm, reddish light spread out from a faux-log-fire, which dominated a wall on the far side of a compact little lounge-bar. A handful of drinkers clustered around the bar and the small, circular tables crammed into the place.

Harry went to the bar and ordered an ale. He hadn't had a decent pint in a while, and ' _When in Rome'_ , as the saying went. Hermione opted for a pink gin and lemonade. She and Sue were practically connoisseurs when it came to _Mother's Ruin_. They drank deeply, shamelessly. If Voldemort was coming for them, that was something to toast to. Harry turned to Hermione, smiling.

"This is good beer. One day, I'm going to take you out properly, without any of this crap hanging over us. And we're going to get _rat-arsed_ pissed! We'll drag Nev and Ennie with us. It'll be the _biggest_ laugh! Honestly, they cant drink for _shit_. It'll be so funny."

Hermione laughed. "Consider it a date. Our first one."

"That's weird, isn't it?" Harry considered in his amusement. " _Us_... on a date! Would you ever have thought it?"

"Only in dreams I'd never have _dared_ tell you about," Hermione confessed. "I proper fancied you back at Hogwarts, in case you never noticed."

"Really?" Harry grinned, taking a swig of ale and leaning on the bar. "I never did. But you know how dense I am ... why didn't you ever say something to me?"

"I've told you why," Hermione reminded him. "I knew how much I liked you, but I was scared of it. If you were the kind of girl I was at fourteen, how are you supposed rock up to the cutest boy at school ... who just _happens_ to be your best friend, by the way ... and tell him that you're _obsessed_ with him? That would hardly have been subtle, would it?"

"I don't know ... a big, sloppy kiss might have given me a _hint!_ " Harry teased. "Or a corny Valentine's Card? I mean, you cant have done any worse than that shitty poem Ginny sent me when she was possessed by Tom's old diary, could you?"

Hermione laughed heartily. "No, that was dire! I wonder who _actually_ wrote it ... Ginny or Tom? It's a bit creepy to think that Voldemort wrote you a singing Valentine!"

"I think I'd rather it be from _him_ than a skanky Weasley!" Harry scoffed. "What did she say? ... my eyes were like pickled toad puke or something, wasn't it? How romantic! Nothing gets a guy going quite as much as being compared to a slimy toad!"

Hermione laughed again and fell against Harry in her mirth. "Oh, Harry! I've missed you. I don't think I've told you how much since you've come back. You always knew how to make me laugh. Five years you were gone ... and I think I can count the occasions I genuinely laughed during that time on five fingers! Maybe _less._ "

"Well, let's make a toast then," Harry proposed. He tilted his ale glass towards her. "To making sure you laugh at least once a day from now on ... and let's try to make it at the expense of our enemies as often as we can! Starting tonight."

"I'll drink to _that!"_

Hermione clinked her glass against Harry's and they drank deeply. This _was_ weird ... almost like a _real_ date night. The most comfy one she could imagine. If she'd closed her eyes, she might have been able to block out the reality, to forget why they were really here at all. To think that this was just a normal night out with her ... whatever Harry was. What _was_ he? It was a curious question. _Boyfriend_ felt too weak a definition ... partner too vague. Soulmate perhaps a little _too_ idealistic.

Or maybe not. Then there was Harry's declaration that he needed a _queen_ ... more precisely, wanted _her_ to be his queen ... and, if Hermione squinted at it in just the right way, she could almost see him meaning that as a _proposal_. And Hermione _had_ wholeheartedly agreed to it ...

As she sipped her drink and thought about the whole situation, she rather felt her fingers were missing a ring ... 

Hermione tried to stop her mind spinning at these ideas and get back on track. However their relationship might be defined, the one irrefutable fact was that they were here together, in every sense, and that was all that mattered. But the reason for their being there at all had reared its head, and wouldn't go away now that it had.

"Who _are_ we meeting, Harry?" Hermione asked in a whisper.

"That's her, over in the corner," said Harry, with a nod.

Hermione gasped. She knew the bespectacled woman staring back at them ... Hermione was stunned to see her in such a place.

"Irma Pince? _Madam_ Irma Pince?"

"It's nice to see you also, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince, as they sidled up to her table. "I'm glad you have managed to survive in these dark and insane times."

"Harry," said Hermione, looking confused. "I thought you said we were meeting with someone who knew where my parent's remains ended up? How can the Hogwarts _librarian_ do that?"

"Madam Pince was not just the librarian," Harry explained. He nodded towards Madam Pince in a gesture of encouragement.

"No, indeed," said Madam Pince. "I was also the Registrar of Hogwarts. I worked closely with Minerva McGonagall, to locate and track magic-users who were eligible for scholarships to the school."

"And so, there is no greater authority on magical background than Irma, here," said Harry.

"Which is what led to my coercion by Lord Voldemort into his service," Madam Pince went on, her tone one of deep shame and sadness. "He threatened my family, tortured them, forced me to help him."

"By doing what?" asked Hermione.

"By providing details of all non-Pureblood students and their families, as far back as records were relevant," said Madam Pince. She took a long slug of wine in her shaking hands. "I was weak, and selfish. Thinking only of my own. I do not ask for forgiveness, Miss Granger. I deserve none."

Then she burst into tears, burrowing her head into her folded arms. Harry moved to comfort her. But Irma was beyond consolation.

"I-I'm responsible," she hiccupped. "For _so_ many deaths! I live every day in utter shame. I will have no rest in my afterlife ... I will rot in Purgatory for eternity."

And fresh tears flowed. Hermione's heart broke at the sight. She smoothed the old librarian's shoulder as gently as she could.

"It isn't your fault," Hermione whispered. "Voldemort is the most evil wizard ever born. You could not have resisted him ... none of us could. You shouldn't blame yourself for the things he has done."

"But you can still do a little good," said Harry. "Help us. Tell us how to find the ones who murdered Hermione's parents."

Madam Pince nodded, drying her eyes. She reached into her handbag and drew out a piece of crumpled parchment.

"I was able to find the death warrant for your parents, Miss Granger," said Madam Pince. "Section Seven carried out the assassinations. They have always been keen on explicit record-keeping for their recruits. _Death Count_ is actually a part of the Candidate Specification on their job application form."

Hermione felt a sliver of cold prickle over her skin. It was so callous, so calculated. Her parents had gone through this, been taken away, murdered in cold blood, then catalogued and applied to someone's CV. She couldn't envisage it ... the sorrow pumping through her veins was clouding her senses, making her feeling like she wanted to vomit.

"They were murdered at the Abingdon Pit, just outside Oxford," Madam Pince went on. "Agent Terry Boot was assigned the gruesome task. But ..."

"But?" Harry asked.

Madam Pince swallowed hard. "A witness was always needed ... for a positive identification of the victim. They were also required to check the bodies to make sure death was certain. They ... they were offered all the wealth and assets of the deceased ... as a form of _compensation_ for their inconvenience."

Hermione felt disgusted. A putrid sickness swirled in her belly. She tried to shrug off the nagging piece of knowledge she was trying to ignore ... as if she knew what was coming.

"Let me see the warrant," said Harry, coldly. Hermione noticed his own anger flickering over his skin. He was flirting with turning golden, in matted fur. It was as if he already knew.

Madam Pince smoothed out the parchment with trembling fingers and slid it over to Harry. His eye dilated in unmitigated fury as it flashed over the words. Hermione edged around to read over his shoulder.

And her heart stopped.

She collapsed back into her seat, as her worst horrors were confirmed. For there, at the bottom of the document, was a very familiar signature ... one her own had once been forced next to on a very different piece of official parchment ...

_The Rt. Hon Lord R. B. Weasley._

Hermione fought to control her incensed, unrelenting anger. It was coming in violent waves that she felt powerless to stop.

"H-he ... he ... Ron ... _he_ was the one who signed my parent's _death warrant!"_ " Hermione croaked out. "He claimed their assets ... their wealth ..."

"And their only daughter," Madam Pince pointed out.

Two lightbulbs smashed overhead, showering them with glass. Hermione's hatred, her fury, was surging out of her. She had no ability to control it. Harry reached over and touched her just then. Not with his hands, or his fingers ... but with his _own_ magic. It searched deep into her very being and enveloped it, caressed and soothed it. Harry pulled Hermione's destructive rage into himself, and she erupted. He absorbed it, casting runes on his forehead when his own body became overloaded. They glowed furiously, and Harry cast them into the coin at his throat. Even that didn't seem enough.

"Come on, Hermione," said Harry, urgently. He stood up. "We have to get outside before you bring the roof down on us!"

So they did. Harry hurried them to the pub exit and into the courtyard. Then he just abruptly stopped.

Something was very wrong.

It was utterly, _palpably_ dark ... so completely gloomy all around that it was clearly unnatural. There wasn't even the briefest sliver of light to be seen. The wind was whispering on the air, light and breathy, a mere shadow of sound. Harry was gripping Hermione's hand so hard that it almost hurt her. His alertness set the blood thumping and hammering hard in her ears. There were people ahead of them. Dozens of people. Hermione couldn't say how she knew, she just did.

Then a multitude of pinpricks of light fractured the complete blackness. They flickered against golden masks of wand-touting Death Eaters. Hermione couldn't believe how many there were, but they surrounded them in a massive semi-circle, boxing them in. They were three, four, maybe five deep in places. A growl escaped Harry's throat. It was so deep, so guttural, so immensely _dangerous_ that Hermione was as afraid of that as she was the enemies arranged against them.

And Harry struck first.

His spell was the most incredibly powerful piece of magic Hermione had ever felt. It even pushed _her_ back into the wall of the little pub, as the shockwave passed over her. It's light trail arced away from them and struck so many Death Eaters at once that Hermione had a wild thought that the fight would be over before it even started.

And then, it _actually_ started.

Spells flew from everywhere, all angles, all at once, all aimed at Harry. And the yells and screams that accompanied them were _deafening._ Harry conjured a dome of pure energy that deflected all of them, then he was off, casting counter-curses and jinxes so fast that Hermione thought he would beat them all on his own. Then she heard a piercing scream, in his voice, as he was pinioned by two curses at once.

Then Hermione sprang to action. She flew forward, firing off every curse and spell she knew until she reached Harry's side. Several spells hit her, but the dress did its job and lessened the impact of them. Harry was getting hit more often, so Hermione could woman-up and deal with the blows she was receiving. Harry was duelling with six Death Eaters at once. So Hermione pinned her back to his, and took on the one's encroaching from the other side.

"Are you alright?" she cried through the din.

"Yeah, it's just my pride that was wounded ..." said Harry, his tone bizarrely light. "Bat-Bogey Hex ... I mean ... the _shame_!"

"Harry we have to get out of this ... there are too many of them!" Hermione shouted to him.

"Spoilsport!" Harry teased, flicking his wand and sending three attackers sprawling away in screeches of agony. "I was just starting to enjoy myself!"

"Well I'm not!" Hermione shrieked. "Get us out of here!"

"Okay, on three I'm going to cut us a path directly in front of you," Harry cried. "When it opens, just run! They've erected an anti-Disapparition field around the pub. I'll tell you when we're clear, then I'll tell you a safe place to Apparate to. Ready?"

"Ready," Hermione nodded.

Harry counted to three. Hermione felt his wand slash the heavy night air. A chain of fireballs, scores of them, flew out and sped at the Death Eaters. Agonised screams split the sky in two. Hermione watched several bodies stumble away, covered in angry flames, flailing hands dabbing at the fire, futilely trying to save their doomed lives. It was totally surreal. The acrid smell of burning flesh would linger in Hermione's nostrils for the longest time.

But now Harry was pulling her forward. He had dragged her in front of him, his wand over her shoulder and those furious fireballs cutting a swath through the crowding enemies. They were almost free, and Hermione turned to cast more spells at the attackers coming at them from behind as a parting shot.

And that was when she saw it.

* * *

"Harry!" Hermione breathed. She had lost every shade of colour from her face.

"What?" Harry yelled back. Now hardly seemed the time for her to start being shocked by his callousness in a fight.

"It's Duh ... it's d-Duh," she stuttered. Her vocabulary seemed to have deserted her. "It's Du-du..."

"What is it? _What?_ "

Hermione could only stare in awestruck terror, pointing at something over Harry's shoulder. So he turned ... and saw, quite clearly ... _what_.

And all breath left his body in one go. He had just enough left to say the word Hermione had been trying to tell him. Or, rather, the _name_.

" _Dumbledore_!"

Harry's old mentor was advancing on them, wand drawn, power so crazily potent pounding out from it that it churned Harry's stomach as it hit him. It was all he could do to keep his bowels under control. Dumbledore's skin was sunken, his eyes nothing more than black holes. But he moved, lithe and springy, as if he were in his prime. But he wasn't in his prime, far from it.

For in that moment, Harry realised, with a jolt of shame at his own stupidity, that Dumbledore was _still dead_. Nothing could revive the deceased. But Tom Riddle had obviously found a way to _reanimate_ the old wizard ... the only man he ever truly feared.

And then Harry saw how he had done it.

For there, at his throat, a medallion was swinging as Dumbledore continued to stalk menacingly in their direction. It was embossed with the coat of arms of Godric Gryffindor. And Tom Riddle's stinking, acidic, putrid essence was oozing out of every atom of the golden disc. Harry could think of no more fearsome defender for such a precious object. It was a stroke of genius.

For Harry was getting his first look at Lord Voldemort's _Lost Horcrux ..._ and the magnitude of the task it would take to recover it.

Then _both_ of Harry's Killing Curse scars suddenly split open with the fiercest, most burning, white-hot pain imaginable. He fell to a knee screaming, clutching at Hermione's battle dress for support. The pain was blinding ... and Harry's eye was streaming with boiling liquid. He couldn't see, couldn't sort his mind to react. Panic set in, he was eleven years old again, weak and frightened and about to die at Tom Riddle's stolen hands. He knew it.

Then he knew something else. He felt a build-up of energy, a forewarning. Something so full of forceful fury that Harry had no idea how he was supposed to stop something so irresistible. Luckily, he wasn't the only one there who was able to think.

" _Protego_!"

Hermione's Shield Charm was _immense._ It deflected Dumbledore's ferocious spell, but the strength of it still pushed them back several feet. Her voice woke Harry from his stunned torpor, her protective intent infusing him, her terror inspiring his imperative to defend her. He forced the searing pain in his scars to fall away to mere background burning, pulled open the doors to _all_ his mind plains to store it, if that's what it took. Cogency rushed back to his senses ... but there was another of those energetic build-ups on the air, another spell was coming. Harry wasn't sure the Shield would hold this time.

"Run! ... I'll hold him off!" Harry cried.

"No, Harry! I'm not leaving you!"

"Please, Hermione, go!" Harry screeched, standing and gripping his wand. "Run, hide, get the others! _Anything_! Just go! I'll buy you some time ..."

"Harry! I'm not ..."

But whatever she might not have been, Harry didn't get to hear. Dumbledore's spell pierced the Shield Charm and hit them both. Hermione span away like a top and hit the floor ten yards away, while Harry roly-poly'd in a tangent direction. The sound of Hermione hitting the ground - with a dull, lifeless thud - stirred feral rage in Harry's heart. He forcefully pushed it back along the connection Riddle's Horcrux was making with him, then flicked his wand at Dumbledore. The spell hit the walking corpse so hard he was flung back himself, and slammed into the amassed Death Eaters, who had crowded behind to watch the duel.

Harry was on his feet in a flash. Battle form was coming to him. His mind was racing, but he had to remember one thing - he was fighting Riddle's Horcrux, not his old Headmaster. It didn't make the fight any easier, but if he could just focus on that ...

But then a spear of magic hit him hard in the shoulder, splitting it in two at the joint. Harry cried out at the pain, watching in surreal disbelief as his left arm just hung there, limp and useless as his side. And the pain was mind-numbing. He recovered just quickly enough to spring away from another power bolt from Dumbledore, who seemed unharmed from Harry's lone attack.

He saw Hermione, still strewn on the floor, and struck out for her. She hadn't moved. Harry dodged another jet of light and reached Hermione's side, just in time to cast another Shield Charm over her. It held for one spell, but shattered seconds later. Harry wanted to flee, to Apparate them away. But he couldn't concentrate. He'd never make it safely ... he only had one option ...

"Lily!"

The phoenix arrived in an eruption of air and flame. It seemed to distract Dumbledore, who held his wand mid-spell, but almost seemed to forget what he was doing. It bought Harry the time he needed.

"Get her out of here!" he cried to the phoenix.

Lily mewled in defiance.

"Don't argue with me!" Harry screamed angrily. "Go!"

Lily hopped to Harry and, in one movement, dripped a tear to his broken shoulder, then spirited Hermione away in another flash of fire.

Harry felt the power of renewal flow through him like a rushing torrent. Lily had healed him, and Hermione was safe ... it was all the impetus Harry needed to take up his wand again. He whipped it through the air, sending a spell into a rocketing collision with another of Dumbledore's own. The resulting explosion was like a clap of thunder so violent that it could have caused a rent in existence itself.

Harry leapt forward and slashed and flicked again, faster and faster, never giving Dumbledore time to prepare. The other Death Eaters seemed to take a step back in their wariness, as though Harry's defiant show of battle prowess had dented their certainty that this abominable version of Dumbledore would make easy work of him. A deep gouge had opened up on Dumbledore's throat and jaw, he doubled up a moment where Harry pounded a Hammer Hex into his hips, but he seemed able to absorb these assaults and keep coming, as though he felt no physical wound at all. Harry would have to change strategy.

But then, Dumbledore out-thought him. In wand movement faster that Harry could imagine possible, Dumbledore conjured a vat of water, doused it over Harry ... and turned it to ice the moment it touched him. Harry was trapped in a freezing cocoon, unable to move. His breath stuck in his lungs, his energy draining out of him fast. Dumbledore was _pulling it_ from him by force! The battle had taken enough of its own ... Harry wasn't sure how much more he had left to spare.

So he used what little he did have to push his very magic to the surface of his skin, hoping the heat would melt the ice. It did, but whatever this draining spell was that Dumbledore was using, it now no longer had the ice barrier to Harry's actual body. It hit him, hard. Squarely in the chest, smashing his ribs to pieces. He shrieked in mind-breaking agony. The spell was sucking the last breath from him, and some of his life, too.

Harry crumpled to the floor, weak and beaten, and felt the last of his energy get ripped out of him. Shock and fear had robbed him of the ability to think. He wondered a moment what it would feel like to die _properly_ , certain that the question would be answered very soon. Where would his dreams and thoughts go? He was mindlessly frightened by not knowing the answers, by not knowing if this would hurt or not.

He heaved his broken lungs for one good gulp of air, but the spell seemed to have hit him in his magic itself. He felt it _bleeding_ out of him. The noise coming from the triumphant Death Eaters was chaotic terror in his ears. His sight was swimming ... and it was fading fast. His wand was a mile away. And what would happen to Hermione if he died out here? He prayed she could find somewhere safe in the world ... for he had failed to protect her again ...

Then the moment came.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

Two evil words ... in a dark echo of that once-grandfatherly voice ... and Harry prepared to face Death again, only permanently this time.

Then a flash of fire exploded in front of him.

Lily had re-emerged and swallowed the jet of green light, before falling helplessly to the floor. Then the air came _alive_. Two, five, ten ... maybe a hundred swirls of breezing Apparition exploded all around him. Harry was too dazed to really tell. He looked up to see Neville and Enola, Angharad and Myfanwy dart forward to form a protective arc around him and take up the fight to Dumbledore, casting so fast and furiously that even the corpse-wizard turned and fled into the scattering mass of Death Eaters behind him. Harry's heart soared as he saw them, ranged alongside one another for him, a line of ferocious defenders driving their enemies back.

But they weren't alone. Sir David Pincott, and Patrick O'Brien, and Angus Kelvin, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Owain Jones, Cassie and Arianwen and who knew how many others had arrived and their wands were firing off spell after spell, screaming and roaring and sending the Death Eaters racing for cover in surprised panic.

And then, one more flash nearby ... and Harry felt Hermione's soft, gorgeous energy reach out and infuse his own, passing a warm, renewing force into his broken body. She cast a protective _wall_ of magic around them that nothing could ever penetrate. It was just that powerful and even Harry, in his bruised state, was in awe of it. Where had _that magic_ come from? How would he even describe it? He would have to ask her later. If there was a later. He was so tired ... maybe just a little nap ...

"Open your eye!" Hermione commanded forcefully. "You are not dying on me today. That's an order!"

"Yes ... my Queen ..." Harry croaked out.

"Rhian!" Hermione cried. The little elf popped into view, took each of them by the hand and prepared to whisk them away.

"Hermione!" Harry breathed weakly. "Lily ..."

Hermione reached over and gently scooped up the phoenix, now a wrinkled little hatchling, mewling for Firewhiskey. Then she nodded at Rhian, and all three of them were swept away in a whirl of air and colour.

* * *

Harry sat in front of the roaring fire, shivering to the very marrow of his tender bones. The healing had been excruciating, the recovery not much better. He was shivery, his breath rattled in his bruised lungs. He couldn't stop shaking, that was the most alarming thing. Even in those snatched moments where he held his mind steady, his body trembled and tingled, with no way, it seemed, to stop it.

Harry was terrifyingly afraid that he'd _really_ broken something this time. Something properly inside ... something that couldn't be fixed.

Hermione came up to him just then. She hadn't left his side in forty-eight hours. Hadn't slept, either. Her eyes were ringed by dark shadows, her expression lined and pained. Worry was etched into every look she gave Harry, which was where her eyes were almost constantly fixed. She refused to let anyone take over her vigil, not even Neville, who was sat with them now, quite cheerily cradling his own injured arm in a Muggle-style sling, which he was proudly displaying as though it was a badge of honour.

Harry needed care, and Hermione was the only one capable of giving it to him. Everyone else could just piss off.

She delicately placed another blanket around his hunched shoulders. He tensed at her touch, but it was through surprise rather than discomfort. His overwrought mind was miles away.

"You can touch me, Hermione," Harry offered reassuringly. "I'm fragile ... but I trust you to be careful."

Hermione required no second invitation. She slipped an arm around Harry's neck and drew his shattered body to her own. She _needed_ this so badly. She had been restless not being able to touch him, to soothe him. She tensed her throat, held still the tears building behind her eyes. She had to feel Harry alive, breathing, moving despite his pain. She was mindless at how close she'd come to losing him for good. She couldn't keep the thought still in her head for any more than a few seconds. The grief it inspired was overwhelming.

But, equally, she couldn't let it go. Couldn't not face what had happened, what they'd seen. Harry didn't want to confront the reality, was begging to avoid the visceral horror that had been unleashed upon them. Hermione was desperate to let him rest, to recover, she knew how much he needed to.

But she couldn't, not this time.

"What _was_ that, Harry?" she asked gently. "What are your thoughts?"

There was no need to qualify the nature of _that_ in the question. It was the only topic on all of their minds.

"Was it really him? _Really_ _Dumbledore_? Did you feel it?"

Harry sighed heavily, his head bowing. Hermione smoothed his back in comforting circles, eased his broken head down to her shoulder. "It was him ... and at the same time _something else_. It was an abhorration, an _abomination_. And what I think he actually _was_ hardly bears thinking about ... it's a reality fundamentally terrifying ... and something I'd never considered in my wildest theories."

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Neville.

"It _was_ Dumbledore," Harry elaborated. "No question. Reanimated, a zombie, an _Inferius_ ... whatever you want to call it. I _felt_ him. I know that presence, that power. But I also felt _Riddle_ ... in both the Horcrux _and_ in Dumbledore. And those spells that hit me ... they had such _force_ , such immense potency, but also a _dual_ signature. They were full of such malice, such Dark rage. As if they'd somehow _combined_ their power and cast them as _one person_. I know that's possible in some cases with _Marriage Bonds_ ... and it got me thinking."

"What's your theory?" Hermione encouraged. She felt better just for hearing Harry's thoughtful voice ... as though it was reaffirming that he was still alive there with her. She didn't want him to stop talking now he'd started.

"I think that Riddle has somehow reanimated Dumbledore _using_ his Horcrux, so that it's a part of him now," Harry went on. "A truly horrifying part. For aside from being the Dumbledore we knew, with all his incredible power, I think this may also be the version of Dumbledore from Riddle's own mind ... the only man he truly feared ... somehow, _made flesh_. Super-powered ... charged with all of Riddle's evil and cruelty and, more worryingly, his _fear of the real Dumbledore!_ "

"Oh my!" Hermione gasped. "You think that, if I'm getting this right, this isn't just Dumbledore ... but one powered by all the things that Tom Riddle _built him_ _up_ to have in his mind ... including the very weapons that _made_ Riddle fear him in the first place!"

"That's _exactly_ what I think," Harry smiled weakly at her. "With powers real or imagined, this is the Dumbledore that Tom Riddle's fear has created. And I have no _idea_ how we're supposed to fight something like that."

Neville swore, and curled his good first around the armrest of his chair.

"So he's pretty much unstoppable," said Neville, bitterly. "And if Dumbledore has Riddle's lost Horcrux around his neck ..."

"Then it's a new problem, but not necessarily an insurmountable one, is it Harry?" asked Hermione, more in hope than belief. She'd seen this nightmarish vision of Dumbledore in battle. She knew what it meant. It was horrifying.

Harry didn't look at her. Hermione had her answer in the way his already stunted breathing hitched and held in his lungs.

Harry took a while to consider his reply. He had to give them something to cling to, but what did he have left? Not much ... but there was always _hope_ ... no matter how weak it might seem in these bleakest of times. 

"It was still Dumbledore in _body_ ," Harry sighed, eventually. "That means he can still be stopped ... in theory, anyway."

"But Harry," Neville cried, vehemently. "You hit Dumbledore with spells, Ennie and I did, too. They seemed to just bounce off, or not do enough damage to do more than just slow him down. He just kept coming. How do you stop something like that?"

"He still has a body," Harry repeated. "There are rules that come with that."

"Like, if you smash his legs to bits, he wont be able to walk," Hermione considered, thoughtfully.

"Precisely," Harry nodded. "Stopping his enhanced magic is the biggest issue. And that's going to require some serious thought ... if my mind ever returns to my own control."

"And, on the plus side, at least we know where the lost Horcrux is," said Hermione, reaching for any positive she could. "Finding them was always a difficult problem for us."

"Getting this one from around the neck of an indestructible, ultra-powered-up, Inferi-Dumbledore is going to be a little more than a difficult problem, Hermione," said Neville, glumly. "I wouldn't call that a _plus_ _side."_

Hermione frowned at him. "You know, when Harry and I _last_ embarked on a Horcrux hunt, we had a _third-wheel_ who was just as much of a beacon of positivity as you're being, Neville. Don't be that wizard ... it's not the kind of company you want to be lumped in with!"

"I think there's more to that, too," said Harry, quietly, to offset their bubbling row.

He didn't want to tell them this, whatever it was. Hermione could hear that in his strained voice. So she knew it must be the kind of thing they all ought to know, even if they didn't want to hear it.

"What is it?" she pressed.

"I could feel something about the energy of the Horcrux when it tried to connect to me," Harry confessed. "It felt like it was being fed power _externally_. It was like the Horcrux was at the centre of a spider's web, with other energy lines flowing to it, making it stronger. That's the best way I can describe it. One was definitely Riddle's, but there were others."

"How many others?" asked Hermione, cautiously.

"At least four," said Harry. "But there could have been more. I didn't have much chance to focus on them. I was too busy getting my arse handed to me by Dumbledore."

Hermione tightened her hug on Harry. The vision of him, broken and defenceless on the ground as she rejoined him in the battle, Dumbledore moving menacingly close, was pounding at her temples again. Seconds ... she had been mere _seconds_ away from ... no, she wouldn't think it. The idea was just too horrendous to allow into her mind.

But suddenly, taking just a month to admit she loved him seemed plenty of time ... it might as well have been a lifetime by comparison. It was more than long enough ... if she had been just seconds away from being separated from him forever. She just couldn't get control of her mind. She shook in terror at her own rampaging thoughts.

"What does this all mean, Harry?" asked Neville.

"It means, brother, that we have a longer task ahead of us that we ever thought ... assuming that I'm right, of course."

Hermione took a breath, forced calm into herself. She needed to understand this, and she knew that she could. She was bright and clever, this was something she was good at. She cleared her mind and thought aloud a moment.

"You think they're providing some sort of protection ... four other people, at least, maybe with elite fake Horcruxes of their own, defending the Master Horcrux somehow?"

Harry looked at her ardently, reverently. "You know, sometimes, I think your guesses are more reliable than my cold, hard facts!"

Hermione smiled shyly at him.

"So, four others are channelling power into Riddle's lost Horcrux, and that abomination of Dumbledore is protecting it?" Neville summarised. "So it's simple ... we take out the other four Horcruxes to start with! We can handle _them_ ... if we can find out where they are."

"But they know we are coming, they will have redoubled any protections they have," Harry pointed out. "It looks like old Tom has finally learned from his mistakes. He's ultra cautious with this last piece of his evil fucking soul. I think Dumbledore is actually _part_ of the Horcrux. They are one. Plus, there's an army aligned against us out there. It wont be easy."

"There's an army against us? Then, _by Merlin_ , we tear them all down, one by one if necessary, and burn them all where they stand!" said Hermione, fiercely. "More pity them, I say. Dumb bastards. Do they even know who we _are_? We're Team Potter, for fuck's sake!"

Harry just stared at her open-mouthed, hardly daring to believe that Hermione was prepared to stand beside him so ferociously, despite the defeat that they had just suffered. She couldn't have put a name to the look in his eye just then. It wasn't love. It was something so fundamentally more potent, more raw, it had no name. Whatever it was, it took Hermione's breath away to have it fixed on her so pointedly.

Luckily - for poor Neville at least - the door opened just then, breaking the throbbing energy that Harry was pulsing Hermione's way. _Unluckily_ , Enola came in, looking fitful. She had a nasty bruise on her cheek, and a slight limp, but she was chipper about all that. Hermione smiled weakly up at her, apologetic and still fitfully guilty. Enola leant down and squeezed Hermione comfortingly on the shoulder, letting her know that all was forgiven without needing to say the words.

But it was the news she was carrying that was an infinitely more terrible burden.

"Harry ... you have to see this ... you all do," she hushed gravely.

"What is it, love?" asked Neville, suddenly concerned at his wife's anxious state.

Enola placed a laptop computer in front of them and pulled up a tab on the screen. "This is a live stream, from a site called _YouTube_ ," Enola explained. "It shows videos and things."

"I know what YouTube is," said Harry, impatiently. "What are we watching?"

Enola looked at him darkly. "It's what we're _about_ to see that we need to worry about. This video stream is currently being broadcast on _every_ screen in the country. Look."

So Harry did. And Hermione felt his very _soul_ drop. For there, on the screen, was a familiar face ... but in a very unfamiliar pose.

 _"Elizabeth!"_ Harry breathed in utter astonishment. He was beyond terror and anger now. All Hermione could sense from him was rumbling numbness.

And she couldn't blame him.

For the Queen of England was in a plain, darkened room ... and she was on her knees. Her hands were tied behind her back, a heavy black blindfold pulled tight over her eyes. Behind her, a large green flag fluttered on a soft draught ... making the menacing silver skull it depicted appear as if it were alive.

And towering at The Queen's shoulder, looming over her like a captor, the flowing robes of Lord Voldemort hung and swayed like wispy thunder clouds. His snake-distorted face was contorted into a rabid smile, his slits for eyes, with their blood-red pupils, looked menacingly into the camera.

"People of Great Britain," Voldemort hissed theatrically. "Behold your Queen, your _champion_ , on her knees at my feet ... _defeated_. She has been derelict in her duty, allowed corrupt Parliaments to replace the rule of Kingly Law ... and made our great nation weak and comical in the eyes of the world. In time honoured fashion I, Lord Voldemort, do claim the throne to the Realm of Britain, and all her territories, following victory in battle.

"I intend to be a strong and powerful leader. To make Britain truly Great again. A leader on the world stage. No longer will we play second fiddle to the crassness of America, the covertness of China, the subtle manipulation of the Russians. Britain will lead the world again ... and I am the man who will put us back where we belong.

"And, to prove to you that I will be a just and respectful ruler, I offer your fallen monarch a chance at last words, to swear fealty to me, in return for a swift and painless death."

Hermione cried out, flinging her hands to her mouth. She looked at Harry. He was frozen, motionless, too wounded to even consider aid. But he was sheet white, his expression astonished and shocked. He couldn't move to do a single thing but watch in stunned horror.

"I will swear fealty," said Elizabeth, her cracked voice betraying her own wounds. She had been hurt, beaten, who could guess what else. Hermione couldn't even begin to point her thoughts at those horrific images passing through her mind.

"Ah, a sensible decision," said Voldemort, turning the camera to her for a close-up.

"I swear fealty ..." Elizabeth croaked. "To the King ... to the _Once and Future King_! To King Harry Potter! May his vengeance on you, Lord Voldemort, be swift and violent."

Voldemort turned his furious face back to Elizabeth ... screeched angrily in a high-pitched hiss ... then slashed his wand down in a brutal arc ...

And severed the Queen of England's head in one, swift movement.


	18. The Bonds of Matrimony

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The palace was in state of total chaos. And for the first time since she'd been here, Hermione felt genuinely afraid.

Not for herself, she was too mindless with the anarchy around her to harbour that sort of fear. But she was afraid for everyone, and everything, else. It wasn't just the walls, shaking as if in the throes of an earthquake, or the shattered glass littering the rooms and the halls. It was the irrepressible, rampant magic that was surging and heaving all around them, knocking them to the ground, disintegrating furniture and sending random sparks shooting out from the very air and cracking the brickwork itself.

Such was the vicious fury of Harry Potter in complete meltdown.

He was an unstoppable force. Uncontrolled, unhinged and impossible to reign in. And it was a task _everyone_ was trying to achieve. From Hermione and Enola, right through to the youngest of the house-elves. But Harry seemed impervious to capture. He would Apparate as soon as anyone got near, or cast Blinding Hexes or conjure heavy, dark clouds to obscure himself. He was totally wild, his mind exerting literally zero control over his raging magical powers.

And Hermione was almost equally as frenetic. She raced around in pursuit of Harry, trying to repair the suits of armour he was melting, or the antique china sets that were fractured in his wake. She watched him change into his fierce Animagus lion form and tear curtains to shreds with his razor-sharp claws, or charge into ornate cabinets and head-butt their contents to smithereens. Thankfully, his attacks were confined to just the tapestries and furniture, rather than the living flesh of the palace's residents.

But Hermione was wary of getting too close, herself. Harry was out of his mind ... so wild that Hermione wasn't sure he would still even to _her_ , would be cogent enough to recognise that she wasn't something to be destroyed, to be ripped or torn asunder under the blades of his powerful paws. He changed from wizard to lion and back again, then partially altered in rapid, random transformations, so that at times he merely had a shaggy golden mane and long, sharp incisors poking out from under the remains of his shawl, which his claws had shredded to ragged strips of useless cloth flapping around his head.

And all the while, Harry roared and growled so deep and base that it made Hermione's skin prickle with anxiety.

But her worry was for him. She knew, deep down, that Harry wouldn't hurt her. She could still sense that from him, as if he knew that she was following his trail, permitting her to keep an eye on him, to protect the others from his searing rage. How she might manage to do that was something she couldn't fathom. The darkly-charged magical current spewing from Harry was so raw and intense that Hermione had no idea how she was supposed to contain it.

In any case, she had to _find_ him first. Harry had been out of her sight for a good ten minutes now, the longest period of absence since this violent tantrum started. She could follow him to his last spot easily enough, though. Harry left behind bizarre vortexes of swirling energy in his wake, that Hermione could somehow feel from wherever she was in the palace, as if she were a barometer for the spikes in his atrocious mood. But he was always just gone by the time she arrived at his latest scene of devastation. So Hermione had taken a new approach, choosing to race down corridors at random, desperately seeking Harry in rooms as she passed, hoping to luck out and get a step ahead of him.

But Hermione was growing more frenzied with each failed attempt. Harry was darting about too quickly for her, seemingly at random, and getting more and more furious as the events of the evening pressed tighter in on him. The increasing levels of destruction he was leaving behind were the primary indicator of _that_. And with each miss of Harry, Hermione grew a little more anxious. Every sinew of her being screamed at her to find him. But he was like a sprite, and his dark mischief was devastating their wonderful house.

Hermione felt a shot of possessive anger for that. Harry was wrecking _their_ beautiful palace ... their future _home_. This was the place that their children would one day run and laugh and play, when they delivered a safe world for them ... assuming that Harry's temper didn't leave them anything more than a pile of rubble. The air shifted a little just then, eased slightly, as though Harry's anger had paused for breath.

And Hermione was hit was a bolt of incredible thought ... had Harry _felt_ that ... felt her own cross musings that his incessant rage might jeopardise the promise of their gorgeous future? Had her own surge of emotion affected _him_ , as though the house was beginning to respond to _her_ intent, too? Or was it the concept of their _joint_ ownership that had triggered the brief change?

Either way, Hermione didn't have much chance to dwell on it, as just then she rounded a corner and walked straight into Neville, who was rushing blindingly along the adjoining corridor.

"Oof!" Neville groaned as they collided. "Watch where you're … oh, hello, Hermione. Any luck?"

"None. You?" Hermione replied, rubbing her head where it had impacted against Neville's shoulder.

"No, Harry's too good at this game." Neville griped. "He's always better than us at it. How's your head?"

"I've had worse," Hermione huffed, grimly. "Has Harry done this before, then? Are his tantrums a regular thing around here?"

"We've had one or two," Neville confessed, somewhat evasively.

The house rumbled as Hermione's frantic worry for Harry deepened at the knowledge. Dust fell from the plaster ceiling above them. Was that _her_ making this happen … or Harry? Hermione couldn't be sure, but she knew she needed to calm her thoughts to work it out, just in case she began doing as much damage around here as the wild Lord of the Manor.

Neville eyed the ceiling in curious amusement. "This isn't the worst that it's been."

"When was that then?" asked Hermione. Then she huffed crossly. "No, don't tell me … let me guess ... the night when Malfoy came for me? Enola told me it was bad. But I had no idea, really."

"No, no, the night with Malfoy was different," Neville corrected her. "Harry was enraged because of the _immediacy_ of the danger you were in. It spurred him to action without him really thinking about it. The palace was so focused that night I thought Harry could have turned the air itself into a spear. No, the worst night was when he learned that Ron was battering you. I actually thought he was going to kill himself in his rage. Actually ... he nearly _did_."

Hermione gasped in horror. "How?"

"Well, have you noticed that we only have _three_ round towers at the corners of the old castle walls?" Neville queried. Hermione nodded, grimly. She rather fancied that she knew where this was going, and didn't like it one bit. "Well, we used to have _four_. Harry ruptured the foundations of the other one … while he was still _inside it_."

"Sweet Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed, cupping her cheeks in despair.

"He was trying to manipulate the ley line that ran under that tower," Neville continued, almost wistfully. "He reckoned he could channel his anger right through it, make it so hot that Ron would be roasted alive on the spot, if Harry could redirect the line to him. It might have worked as well. But the line grew so white-hot that the tower foundations actually _melted,_ which pretty much undermined the stone work and it all collapsed down on top of Harry. He was buried underneath all the debris. It took ten of the house-elves three hours working in tandem to free him."

"How in the hell did he survive _that_?"

"Both of his legs were crushed, and he took a tasty whack to the head, which sent an impact fracture down his spine," said Neville, wincing at the memory. "But the roof of the room he was in cracked in half under the intensity of his magic. It formed a sort of dome over him, which absorbed most of the other impacts. Harry was trapped in a pocket of rubble, and his smashed legs were probably the worst of his injuries. It still took over a month of daily healing rituals before he could even leave his bed."

Hermione was horrified at the tale. But the suggestion of Harry's own potential for self-harm cut to her on a far more deeper level. Her heart began to speed, racing faster than her legs had done in any part of her hunt for Harry that night.

"Nev ... tell me the truth, now ... how bad _could_ it get?" Hermione asked, tentatively. "I mean … worst case scenario?"

"Worst case is Harry exhausting his base of magic," said Neville, gravely. "If that happens, the magic in his blood will essentially _evaporate_ , smashing his body to pieces as it leaves it. There'd be no way to heal him from that. The damage would just be too extensive."

"Oh fucking hell!" Hermione cried. "We have to find him Nev! We have to stop him!"

Hermione was beside herself. She tried to run, desperate to pick up the chase once more, but she didn't know which way to go. She stopped, turned, stumbled into Neville again just as hot tears spilt from her eyes. She'd never felt so helpless against what she saw as an inevitable outcome before. Not even during her enslavement under Ron's iron boot.

Harry was going to seriously hurt himself ... and Hermione had no idea how to prevent it.

"Hermione! Calm down!" said Neville, vehemently. "You wont help Harry this way."

"Well, I'm not helping him much standing here with you am I! We have to _do_ something!"

"Look, I've got Angharad, Cassie and Enola's mum watching the potions stores ... there are things in there that Harry could literally _explode_ in his current state. Rhian I've sent to the mausoleum ..."

"Good thinking. Harry'll go berserk if he breaks his Mum's headstone in a rage."

"My reason exactly. Myfanwy is in the armoury, guarding all the weapons. Including the experimental Magic-Tech ones we've been working on."

"Magic-Tech weapons?" Hermione quirked.

"Another time," said Neville, dismissively. "Myfanwy is the best one for that job. She might not look it, but she's badder than sin. Probably the best chance against Harry in a one-to-one duel out of all of us. Apart from you, obviously, who he'd never raise his wand against."

Hermione flushed shyly and the air soothed a little more. Neville didn't seem to notice, or if he did he ignored it. Hermione rather thought that these subtle changes were only perceptible to her … or maybe _Harry and her_ … as if another form of silent, secret communication between them. She smiled at the idea, as Neville continued his speech.

"... and some of Inner Circle are scattered around the grounds, hoping to catch Harry in a lucky moment."

"And Enola's standing guard over Alison, I imagine?"

"Oh, Merlin no," said Neville. "Harry created a special defence ward over the nursery after his last outburst. It throws up a shield that is always more powerful than his emotion … as it's _fuelled_ by it. The angrier he gets, the more powerful the ward. Clever bit of magic, that. Alison is the safest person in this whole palace."

"Then where _is_ Ennie?" asked Hermione.

"She's working on a trap," said Neville, simply.

"What do you mean _a trap?"_ asked Hermione, her tone dangerous and suspicious.

"The best chance we have of saving Harry is to get him in to the ritual room," Neville explained. "The chamber is designed to absorb and channel his magic, as well as keeping him magically renewed. Then we can just wait until he physically exhausts himself. As soon as Harry falls asleep, we can all get some rest, ourselves."

"But there is still the chance he can hurt himself, isn't there?"

"He probably already has," said Neville. "You just have to accept that. Physical wounds can heal. I know it hurts _you_ to think of Harry injured ... but, trust me, it's better than the alternative."

Hermione huffed. "Okay. So, how can we lure Harry to the ritual chamber?"

Neville looked at her sheepishly. "There may be a way … but you wont like it. Though it might be the only thing powerful enough to focus Harry's rampaging emotions in the state he's in."

"I'll do whatever I have to, so long as it helps him," said Hermione staunchly. "I'm not afraid."

"You _will_ be ... I can guarantee you of that."

Hermione paled at Neville's expression, her pulse hammering resistance in her neck. There was only one thing that would make Neville look at her in such a pitying way … but she couldn't work out how _he_ would be involved in any plan like this …

"W-what do you want to do with me?" Hermione mumbled, instantly ashamed of her stutter.

The air heaved, thick and potent, and magic lashed out, almost as if to prevent Neville posing the plan. Hermione knew that it was Harry's protective instinct stirring to her defence. She felt the signature of it prickle across her skin as it flowed around her. Neville cast a Shield Charm deftly to divert the strike, and darted back to avoid the bolt of searing energy, which smashed a hole through the wall he'd been leaning against. Hermione had gone very cold all of a sudden.

For if Harry was subconsciously trying to protect her, from whatever Neville and Enola were scheming, then she was sure it couldn't bode well for her.

"There may be a way," Neville parroted, cocking a curious eye at the crumbling brickwork of the new hole to his left. "But we have to place _you_ in peril. It wont be physical danger … but it might be more difficult for you to face as a result."

"You want to place me in danger ... but I wont get hurt by it? That doesn't seem so bad …"

"You don't understand, Hermione," Neville warned, darkly. "We will have to expose you to some of your greatest fears. Make Harry _feel_ them ... feel how afraid you are ... and come charging to rescue you."

"Without me physically leaving the house?" asked Hermione.

"This plan is more cerebral than physical. We have to open your _mind_ to danger."

Hermione stared blankly. "And how will you do that?"

Neville took a deep breath. "My Ennie has detected all sorts of historical charms and curses on you. Harry has noticed them, too, when he's tried to heal you. They cant break the connection you have to their creator, or his ability to infiltrate your mind. Harry was devising some sort of plan to use it against him, but right now _our plan_ is to expose you to it. Draw him to _you_."

Hermione gasped and felt a black weight fall into her abdomen. "Y-you want to … to draw _Ron_ … to me?" Her words stumbled over her trembling lips. "Is that what you're saying? For him to do what?"

"Whatever he wants," said Neville. "Whatever will be strong enough to summon Harry to your defence. I said you wouldn't like it."

"No, I fucking don't like it!" Hermione cried, her eyes wide and startled as the notion clenched in her chest. "There … isn't an easier way?"

"You've been hunting for Harry for over an hour with no success," said Neville. "We don't have the time to wait for him to calm enough to do the right thing. He's just a bundle of anger shooting around and breaking things right now. We have to do something _drastic_ … before he breaks himself."

Hermione quaked at the idea, the image swimming before her eyes. It was doing battle with the equally harrowing thought of letting Ron into her psyche by choice, exposing herself to him. It made her feel sick to her stomach. Her knees buckled and she had to grab onto Neville for support.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" he asked, hauling her up. "Is it really that bad a suggestion?"

Hermione shook in Neville's arms. "I don't think you truly understand. You're asking me to willingly face a demon who haunts my dreams ... to risk taking back a five-year illness that I've only just begun to shake off ... and saying that if I _don't_ , the man I love, with every atom of my being, might die. It's like offering me a choice between cancer and a lobotomy for my birthday present!"

Neville clenched his jaw angrily. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't suppose I've really thought how badly you still suffer. You seem loads better since Harry rescued you … and the change you've wrought in _him …_ I forget that you went through hell to get here. I wont ask you to do this, we'll find another way. Fucking Weasley. I hope Harry lets me watch when you rip him apart. Come on, let's think of an alternative."

Hermione scoffed. "There isn't one, is there? You know I'm going to do this ... whatever the cost. It's _Harry,_ for fuck's sake _._ The only thing I _wouldn't_ do is die for him. I mean, what would be the point? I want to _enjoy_ him. It's just … facing Ron … it's a terrifying prospect for me."

The walls vibrated again at that. Neville ducked on instinct, but Harry's magic merely throbbed around Hermione. It felt gentler, as if trying to dissuade her from this course. But there was something needy there, too. It was an element of Harry that Hermione had felt once before ... that part that desperately needed and wanted help, but could never lower itself to ask for it. It was the part she always imagined herself hugging when she embraced him, that part so deep, so wounded, that it had to be sought out to comfort. It was the part that Hermione knew, if she ever managed to heal it, would make Harry properly righted. It spoke to her now.

And the sensation steeled her. If this was what it took, then Hermione would woman-up and face it like a Queen. Harry needed her. That was all there was to it. And if Harry, so fierce and powerful, needed _her,_ then his situation must be truly dire. Harry didn't _need_ help … he was the one who _gave_ help. But now he _did_ need, and Hermione was the only one capable of providing it. Her heart hummed at that, dispelled the fear she had been consumed with. Harry truly needed her, and she was able to step up and meet the challenge ... to be there for him in a way that no other woman could be.

And her whole body pulsed with such love for Harry in that instant, that the entire house was diverted from its chaos for a moment. It surrendered to the dominance of her intent. Hermione knew then that Neville was completely right in his theory. Harry was attuned intently to her … he would come if she needed him. But that couldn't be faked. She had to do this … she had to place herself in the way of _real_ harm … if only to focus Harry's fury on her enemies, instead of the world in general.

"I'm ready," she said to Neville. "Tell me what to do."

"Take my hand," said Neville.

Hermione complied and Neville whisked them to the Ritual Chamber. Enola was already inside. She was moving between all the carved runes and engraved alchemical symbols … setting them alight with her whitewood wand. The whole place was surging and billowing with magic. It was smothering, but ridiculously alluring at the same time. There was such _sensuality_ intrinsic to this form of magic … Hermione decided she would have to read up on this later, to understand this deeply physical element to runic casting. After all, Harry hadn't shown her this fantastic library he'd built for her yet …

Oh … to make love to Harry in a _library_ … writhing around on a pile of books while Harry ripped her clothes off in his lust ... Hermione lost her breath at the idea. Her knees collapsed under the weight of her fantasies.

"Hermione! Are you okay?"

Enola rushed over and helped Hermione, who had fallen into Neville, back to her feet. Hermione flushed as the erotic images swarmed through her mind. It was so inappropriate … and so badly timed. Then she huffed in amusement … _Harry!_ He was doing this on purpose! But of course ... he was primal just now, feral … and rampantly sexual because of it.

And suddenly Hermione understood. She knew exactly where this sexual element had come from … and it _wasn't_ Harry. _Enola_ had prepared this space ... she knew the most potent inducement that would stir Harry to action ... and Hermione realised just what she needed to do.

"Leave me to this," she commanded firmly to Enola and Neville.

"What?" quirked Neville, concerned.

"Just go," said Hermione, bracingly. "I … I know what I have to do. Just be ready to get me out when it's time. Oh … and have a robe on hand … I-I'll probably need one."

Enola turned a sickly shade of grey. "Min … I … I'm sorry ... I wish there was another way"

"Just go, while we still have time," said Hermione, her voice like chilled iron. She brushed off Enola as she tried to hug her.

Then she was left quite alone.

Hermione relaxed her mind. In fact, it was already bizarrely calm. And it wasn't just the realisation of what she had to do that had made her this way. It was the understanding that this was part of her conditioning. It was the way her mind and body were already used to being … for when this _time of the month_ rolled around. And it is what made her instantly able to tap into the powers of the chamber, to find what she was looking for.

For Harry had long since configured it to torture Ron Weasley when the time was right. There was an entire runic scripture here dedicated to his hated memory. It made him easy to find amidst the other swirling forces of the circular room. Hermione simply let her guard down next to those pulsing with the most vitriolic emotion … and her hated husband came right to her, like a moth to a flame.

"Hello … _loving wife_."

Hermione froze. No matter how much she'd tried to prepare herself, no matter how often she'd done this in person, to expose her mind to his was a far more horrendous experience than anything she'd imagined. At once, she felt the level of his dominance over her. It was focused and pointed, now that it was all he had left. Harry had liberated her _physically,_ but Ron's Dark Magic still held her on so many deeper levels. She gasped as she felt each one, like an ice-cold knife stabbing at each point as it moved through her. There were so _many!_ Hermione was astonished as she realised just how firmly under Ron's magical heel she'd really been. She wondered if Harry already knew.

And the runes flared … angry, blood red and fierce gold. She had her answer. And there was something else, too. Something that stirred fierce, protective love all around her like a shield. It made her very body throb with hopeful energy.

Because _He_ _knew_ … on some level … Harry knew that's Ron's spirit had invaded their home. And it created waves of magic so potently charged that Hermione's fears were wiped away in the face of it.

She was empowered by the emotion. It felt like Harry had been winded, taken by surprise by Hermione's act of courage … and, when he recovered, his response would be so ridiculously intense that Ron would be annihilated if he stayed here, no matter what form he was in. It stoked Hermione's bravery, her brassiness. She _could_ do this … could face Ron … and heal Harry in the same, weird situation. Ron would no longer dominate her ... he was inferior, pathetic ... and Hermione was a _Queen_ ...

... and it was time to be as brave as one now …

"Fuck you … _husband_."

Hermione's ire spilled out of her in her acidic words. It was as if Harry's own anger was infusing _her_. She willed more of it into herself. But then Ron spoke ... and his mere voice was enough to break her, as if it carried an enchantment all of its own which, Hermione later reasoned, it probably _did._

"I've been waiting for you," said Ron, his spectral form stalking around her icily. "You know it's that special time … when you shut your mouth and open your legs. Have you forgotten already how much trouble you get into when you _resist?_ You don't want me to open those legs _for you_ ... _again_ ... do you? Even though I like it so much _better_ that way. You always did like to please me. I miss that ... sort of."

"I'm not afraid of you, Ron. You've hurt me for the last time."

He chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh ... but you _are_. And with good reason. You _belong_ to me ... mine to do with as I choose. I own you ... dearest _Mione!_ "

"Don't call me that!" Hermione spat at him. "I've always _hated_ that nickname!"

"All the more reason to use it," Ron taunted, mirthlessly. "So, where is he then ... old _Scarhead?_ I suppose it really _is_ him ... taking what's rightfully mine again?"

Hermione snorted at him. "No part of me is _yours_ , dickface. And yes, Harry will be along shortly ... and _doubly_ yes, he can _take me_ whenever he wants. After five years of your tiny cock, it'll be nice to have something inside of me that actually touches my walls!"

Ron's eyes flashed furiously, but his irritation served only to steel Hermione further. She was stirred to her sassiest best. "You _must_ have missed me, though ... why else would you be so desperate to find me? What's the matter, Ron? Has my disobedience cost you face with the other Death Eaters at the Country Club? Is Uncle Tom _demoting_ you for being unable to control your witch? Your _Muggleborn_ witch! You pathetic ginger twat!"

Ron bristled at that. Hermione had _never_ outright called him a Death Eater to his face before. They both knew what he was, but for some reason it had always remained an unspoken, ugly understanding between them. Vocalising it like this seemed to shatter a dam that neither had known existed.

"You utter _cunt,_ Ron!" Hermione seethed. "For all those things you did to me! For all the lies ... all the hurt ... all the _rape_! When we meet again in the flesh, be prepared to say goodbye to _yours_ ... because Harry and I are going to _rip_ it from your bones ... one strip at a time!"

Hermione stepped back, breathing angrily and clutched against the altar at the centre of the raised dais. Harry's presence felt strongest there. It renewed Hermione's courage.

Ron gathered his own anger and moved on Hermione again. "So, what is this place?"

Hermione screeched out a maniacal laugh. "That's the _best_ you can do? Just outright _ask_? No wonder you never made the Interrogation Squads! Even as a Death Eater, you really are a joke, Ron!" 

"A joke?" Ron hissed back, furiously. "Let's see how funny you find me when I do _this!_ Now _kneel_!"

And then, with a sharp cry as if pummelled from behind, Hermione did as she was told.

She wasn't sure if it was the familiar order, or an involuntary reflex, but either way Hermione collapsed painfully to the floor, trembling with the fear of what she knew usually followed this stance. She chided herself for her weakness ... some equal of Harry's _she_ was proving to be!

"Interesting that, don't you think?" Ron taunted, icily, his bravado swelling again. "No matter what this place is, I still have you under my command. I give you an order ... you _obey_. Just the way it should be. For all of Harry's miraculous powers of recovery, _saving you_ is the one that just _keeps_ alluding him."

The Ritual Chamber rattled with inherent fury. Hermione took strength from it ... she knew Harry was coming. 

"Now … how do we normally do this?" Ron went on, in that chillingly conversational manner. He might as well have been there in the flesh, holding Hermione down with his boot rather than his mind. Where had he _learned_ such Dark Magic ... and where had he been hiding it all this time? Hermione felt utterly stupid for not paying more attention to the changes in him. His rancid intent was so clear now. Had she been so afraid of the abuses that she hadn't seen the bigger picture?

She rather thought she might have been.

And then a jolt of fearful understanding sped right through her like a lance ... Ron might actually be able to do her _real_ damage here. And she was just getting used to a life without pain. She ground her jaw anxiously ... and decided she wasn't going to give up this joyous freedom that easily.

Hermione summoned up all her emotions, all her fears, all her hatred ... every _ounce_ of her love for Harry … and she stood up fiercely, facing Ron as he reached her. He looked totally startled as their eyes met, seemingly unable to process how Hermione had managed to break through his restraining command. Hermione was primed now, she glared at Ron, rabid anger in every line of her face. She pushed him back with her very mind ... and then laughed madly as she considered the abject _hilarity_ of the contest.

Hermione Granger ... versus Ronald Weasley ... in a battle of _minds!_ That was a fight not even the stupidest gambler would back Ron in!

"Yes, remind me ... how _do_ we do this, Ron?" Hermione fumed, forcing him further steps back with her pulsing brain, which seemed to be relishing this rare chance to fight for her. "How do you _rape_ me? You did it so many times ... but with that _tiny dick_ of yours, I barely felt it … thought maybe I'd slipped a _hummingbird-feather_ quill up there or something ... it was easy to forget …"

Ron flushed, his own anger flaring. He muttered something under his breath and Hermione's clothes were suddenly sliced off. They fell to the floor ... but Hermione was unmoved in her nakedness. She advanced on Ron again. But he was recovered from his shock now, and Dark fury was spreading through him. Hermione could almost _see it_ … as if it were an oil slick coursing over his essence. It made Hermione hesitate.

And Ron struck.

It wasn't so much a spell as another mental command. And Hermione was slammed back against the ritual altar, knocking the wind and sense from her. She was dizzied by the impact. She felt her legs thrust open by an unseen force and Ron was suddenly next to her, unbuckling his belt …

Then the room thundered and shook violently, as if hit by a sonic boom.

"What was that? Did you do it?!" Ron yelled, reeling away as if struck by a fierce blow. He whipped his spectral hand at her ... and Hermione felt the contact not only on her cheek … but on something of an emotional level, as though Ron were slapping her very _soul_. The impact sent her toppling over the altar and flat onto her back. She looked up, dazed, as Ron rounded the altar and knelt over her, bracing her with his ghostly knees. Hermione tasted blood in her mouth … or was it something else, for Ron hadn't physically struck her? She couldn't be sure. Either way, she smirked darkly at her joke of a husband.

For the entire Ritual Chamber was now shaking as if in the throes of a violent earthquake. 

" _He_ knows …" Hermione spat up, dangerously. " _Harry_ knows you're trying to hurt me! And he's coming for you, Ron! You'd better run, if you want to leave this place with that pathetic mind of yours in one piece!"

"Like I'm afraid of _him,_ " Ron cried angrily. "I have _you_! Do you think our wedding vows were just _words_ alone? Is your Mudblood brain so retarded that you don't see that? Do you not understand that you may be able to summon _H_ _arry_ , but that I am able to summon something far more potent ... just by touching _this_."

And Ron wrenched up his spectral sleeve ... to show Hermione the black snake tattoo shining dark against his misty skin. For all her knowing it was there, the very _seeing_ of it took Hermione's breath in a fearful rush.

For she had never seen Ron's _Dark Mark_ before. She shuddered as she considered just who he had to _kill_ to get it ... for that was a requirement for the dubious honour of The Mark. 

"Our True Lord Voldemort Marked me _himself!_ Ron announced. He sounded _proud_ of the fact ... and his sheer delight made Hermione want to vomit in disgust. "He gave me his personal promise of protection … and dominion over _you_ , as reward for my loyal service. You are _mine,_ my darling Mione! Harry Potter's greatest weakness is under _my_ complete control!

Then Ron drew his wand and slashed it aggressively through the air. For a moment, Hermione just laughed at him ... his wand couldn't hurt her in this place ... _could it?_

Then something changed.

Hermione felt as though very skin had caught fire. She shrieked in utter agony, swatting helplessly at flesh that was searing hot … but seemed visually unchanged. It was as if Ron was burning her emotionally, casting her very soul onto his evil pyre. Hermione curled up on the cold floor, naked, pitiful and desperate … and now Ron was the one who was laughing, bellyful and joyous.

"Harry! _Help me_!" Hermione moaned, lowly.

And then it was as if every bubble of air around her literally boiled up and _exploded_ in one go.

For Harry Potter had finally arrived to defend his Queen ... and his rage was unlike anything Hermione had ever felt. He might as well have brought Hell itself with him to the fight.

It was as if the swirling winds of magical energy suddenly shattered. Jagged fragments of intense power erupted from an unseen focal point. Ron, in whatever form he was before them, was thrown violently across the Ritual Chamber. In the same moment, a Shield Wall encased Hermione in a dense, impenetrable cocoon. She couldn't even see through it. Harry was there, she could feel that of a sort, but his physical body was in a state of flux. He was the embodiment of fury itself. He took hold of Ron's spirit in powerful, ephemeral jaws and slammed it repeatedly into the walls and floors like a blood-lusted lion devastating its prey, till Ron bled a sort of silvery plasma. He whimpered and screeched in unspeakably, high-pitched agony.

But it only served to stir Harry's rage into yet more frenetic states. Then Ron spoke.

" _Morsmordre!"_

Hermione cried out in terror as Harry's impermeable delirium threatened even _her_ , licking dangerously at her skin. He was utterly steeled, ready to face the entire Death Eater army, Tom Riddle and the abomination of Dumbledore on his own if they all showed up to fight him. But Hermione was wild with fear for him, and trapped inside this bloody shield charm!. Then there was a _pop._

"Lady Hermione will come now! Take Sally's hand! Take it now!"

Hermione had never heard her little elf sound _afraid_ before. It was so child-like, so utterly terrified, that it cut to Hermione as if it were a request for help from innocence itself. She gave to it without resistance. She grasped Sally's soft, scaly palm in her own and allowed herself to be whisked away.

And then she instantly regretted it.

For outside the chamber it was indescribably worse, by a measure of degrees. For Harry was _at war_ inside … and drawing all energies of the palace to his banner. It was like being in a tsunami of potential energy, rushing to its Master's aid like a gale-force wind that whipped all around them. And Hermione was utterly powerless to help. She heard Harry's commands in her mind, felt his summons for assistance against Ron and the powers of Voldemort … but she was unable to render even the most basic of aid. She didn't know how. 

She darted forwards, making for the locked door of the Ritual Chamber, determined to join the fight. But Neville suddenly emerged and stepped across her, covering her nudity with a new robe.

"Hermione! Stand back!" Neville roared. "There's so much focused power inside that Chamber that if you open the door you'll destroy the entire palace and kill everyone in it!"

"But Harry will die if we don't help him!" Hermione shrieked in response. "Get out of my way!"

"No! Harry is in complete control in there! This is how he wants it!"

"Like fuck it is!" Hermione cried angrily. "He's fighting _Ron_ in there ... and Voldemort wont be far behind! Let me in!"

"I cant do that!" Neville shouted her down. "Step back!"

"Fuck you, Neville! I'm not leaving Harry alone in there!"

"Yes, you are!" Enola yelled, appearing behind Neville. "Nev's right. Harry will be …"

But Enola didn't get a chance to finish her sentence ... for Hermione, in her incessant rage, _spat_ directly into her mouth to shut her up. Enola retched away to her right.

"Hermione! You need to control yourself," Neville tried to tell her. "Harry can handle it! This is what the Ritual Chamber was _designed_ for. Harry cant be hurt in there!"

But Hermione just saw red, only hearing the words _Harry_ and _hurt_ spoken in the same sentence. And _red,_ in this instance, equalled _Neville Longbottom_.

_Whack!_

With her wand trapped inside the Chamber with her old clothing, Hermione had no other weapon than her balled fist ... which she drove powerfully into Neville's face. He was taken so surprised by Hermione's quick attack that he couldn't respond. The truth was, though, that Hermione's punch was so intense, so infused by her roiling magic, that Neville's best blocking spell would have trembled against it. As it was, Neville was smashed against the door of the Ritual Chamber and knocked out cold.

Hermione, sensing her chance, darted forwards. But then, a spell of such unrepentant force hit her that she was left breathless by its power. She turned her eyes, wide and startled, to see Enola advancing slowly ... her flawless features infused with a dark, hideous fury that Hermione had never seen there before. Her long, whitewood wand was in her hand ... and she was so furious that the little stick was actually _vibrating_ against her elegant fingers. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Hermione truly appreciated, with a startling tremble of respectful fear, the raw ferocity of Enola Longbottom's magical ability.

Then Enola visibly mastered her rage, in a stunning display of self-control. Her eyes softened with sad regret. "I'm sorry, Min … but I have to ... for _your_ sake and ours ... _subicite!"_

There was a flash of silvery-white magic ... and Hermione was completely, and _utterly_ , subdued.


	19. A Heart to Hart

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Enola watched carefully, marking each surge in Hermione's energy like a big band conductor. She even had her own baton of a sort. In this case it was her whitewood wand, visceral and throbbing with her magical power. And with each rise of Hermione's emotion, Enola would carefully and deliberately cast counter-spells and protection runes, pushing them into her before resuming the vigil.

For her new friend was under sustained assault ... and Enola was determined to protect her.

The exposure of her mind was always a risk, and until Hermione could replace her own mental shields, she was vulnerable. And as Enola felt responsible for making her defenceless, both in proposing the plan and having to magically sedate her later, she felt duty-bound to fight Hermione's battles for her. So with each attempt at incursion, Enola would cast another barrier, put in another block. It was working so far, but she had to hand it to that fucktard Weasley ... he was a persistent little shit.

For they'd been at this duel for sixteen hours straight.

Enola was hardly surprised. There was just something about his magical intent, a sort of wounded desperation. He had shown his weakness, his wizarding limitations as Hermione had overpowered his magical control over her. Even if it was only for an instant. Poor Min! She was so afraid of that joke she had to call a husband. That wasn't surprising either, considering what he'd put her through. Enola fancied that Hermione hadn't really dealt properly with that yet. That when her anger subsided, the real horror of facing up to her chief tormentor would hit her ... and hit her hard.

But at least she'd have Harry to help heal and soothe her. That made Enola unspeakably happy. To see Harry laugh and joke and smile ... it was something else. It brightened up the entire place. And the poor, wounded girl under her care was responsible for all of it. That was reason enough in itself to help her. So Enola was fiercely determined in her personal fight with Ron Weasley. If he wanted Hermione, he'd have to get through _her_ first.

And Enola Longbottom wasn't about to be bested by a lazy, talentless bigot like Ronald Weasley.

Hermione shifted and jerked again as Ron made another move on her. He was so blindly resolute to make amends for his failings ... Enola was half-wondering if Tom Riddle was stood over his minion, demanding he keep attacking until he broke through. That solidified Enola's own resolve, as she hoped Weasley was being punished for each failed attempt. It felt like a victory with each successful repel of his invasive magic. So she drew out another powerful defensive rune, pushed it into the path of Ron's spell, and fist pumped as it was deflected away. She closed her eyes ... and imagined Ron's agonised cry as Riddle whipped a curse across his stupid, ginger head.

This was child's play. Enola was genuinely astonished that Weasley had managed any sort of control over Hermione. His magic was so mid-level powered at best ... and her Min was so _potent_. The situation was all sorts of backwards in Enola's mind. The amount of sly, underhand curses Weasley must have used on her to gain his advantage ... whether it was when she slept, or when she was broken and fragile after a beating ... it made Enola's blood boil with searing anger just to think about any of it.

For Hermione was so _stupendously_ powerful ... Enola knew that now. She'd not appreciated truly how much before, or of how close to Harry's _actual_ equal she really was. Harry had told her about it so many times, but Enola just hadn't believed him. It was _Harry_ , after all ... and nobody could get close to his power level. But here was Hermione ... flirting with that degree without any advanced training and still not fully recovered from her five years of servitude.

Who knew what she'd be like when she was at her optimum best.

In truth, Enola was a little bit wary about what Hermione would be like when she woke up. Neville's wife had been forced to reach deep into the recesses of her own magical strength to subdue Hermione and hold her there. She'd never driven that far into herself before. It had shocked her system ... and she was still a little weak and trembly as a result. If Hermione was angry when she woke ... Enola might be in genuine danger from her wrath.

After all, she'd fractured Neville's cheekbone and snapped his wrist in her manic attempt to get to Harry's aid.

Okay, so the wrist break had happened when Neville had crumpled to the floor, but still ... Hermione had sparked his lights out with one punch! So Enola knew she had to be careful. Hermione whimpered again and Enola threw up another barrier in her mind. She dabbed a cool flannel at Hermione's forehead, hot with roiling sweat, and whispered comfortingly to her. She wondered how long this would go on for ... and she wasn't the only one.

"You need to rest. Let me take over. I quite fancy a turn at besting Ron at this!"

Enola turned to see Neville leaning on the doorframe. Both of his arms were in bandages now.

"How long have you been watching?" Enola quirked.

"Long enough to know you need a break," said Neville, taking a seat on the opposite side of Hermione's bed. "You're exhausted."

"I'm not leaving her," said Enola, stoutly. "She needs help. He makes her too weak for her to face him alone."

"Then let me ..."

"No!" Enola hissed. "I've already crossed her mental boundaries as it is ... she might not forgive me for it when she wakes up. You aren't going anywhere _near_ her mind. I don't think even _Harry_ has been this deep. If I could just pull her Occlumency shields back up ... it might be enough."

"Then why don't you do it?" asked Neville.

"Because going as far as I have is enough of an uninvited invasion!" Enola cried, hotly. "You don't just delve into someone's mind without permission, Neville, unless you have no other choice! And she's probably pissed enough with me as it is!"

"Yeah, probably," Neville quirked. "You placed yourself as a barrier to helping Harry. I'm living proof of what happens to people like that!"

He held up his bandaged hands.

Enola scoffed. "You're not helping. Besides, you're just being a pussy. Skele-Gro and a quick healing ritual will have sorted you out. You're just being a baby ... or fishing for sympathy, which you won't get from me!"

Neville feigned hurt. "What a wife you are! I'll have you know I'm very damaged over here."

"Only in terms of your pride," said Enola, smirking. "Bested by an untrained witch! Harry's _second-in-command_ my arse!"

"But _what_ an arse!" Neville quipped. Enola simply rolled her eyes at him. "But, you're right, I _am_ in charge while Harry gets a well-earned rest. That's what I came to say ... me and my dad are going to head out tonight, do a bit of recon."

"No you fucking aren't!" Enola cried, deathly serious. "It's too dangerous out there right now."

"Which isn't going to change unless we do something about it," said Neville, firmly. "This isn't up for debate, love. We're going."

Enola frowned. "Just don't do anything reckless. And take your Invisibility Cloaks. And take Fan and Ann ... and the Sword of Gryffindor ...and ..."

Enola hiccupped as a wave of fear flowed over her flesh. Neville rounded the bed and scooped her up into a powerful hug. She melted into his embrace. He made her feel _so_ safe, like everything would be alright ... even if it probably wouldn't. And he was always so brave ... it made her so insanely hot for him.

"I wish we had time for a quickie," she breathed into his chest. "I miss feeling you inside me."

Neville tensed up. Enola bit her lip ... it was the wrong thing to say. She apologised lowly.

"Don't be sorry ... I'll deal with _that_ problem.," Neville promised. "But this comes first, pardon the pun. Take care of Hermione. I'll be back."

"When? Today?"

"No promises," said Neville. "I'll be back when I find what I need. You know the score. I'll be safe."

And he kissed her deeply. Then turned and swept out of the room. Enola brushed at her wet cheeks, then turned back to Hermione, who jerked and writhed, and called out in anguished despair.

 _Poor Min_! She'd abandoned her ... and Ron had broken in during her absence! Enola considered breaking into Hermione's mind for a face-off, but rejected the idea immediately. There was only one thing to do ... wake her and face the consequences.

 _"Rennervate!_ "

Enola's spell settled firmly on Hermione and she jolted to consciousness with an abrupt shock. She drew quick, rattling breaths, before scrambling up the bed and cowering in the foetal position, as if bracing to be hit. Enola's heart broke at the sight and she hurried to her side, hushing to her and gently smoothing her shoulders.

"Ssshhh, Hermione ... hush, honey ... you're safe ...I'm here, I'm here ..."

Hermione peeked through a gap in her arms with unfocused, terrified eyes. Her breathing stilled slightly.

"Ennie ... is that ... is that _you?"_

"It's me ... breathe, that's it ... you're safe now ... ssshhh ..."

"Where am I?" Hermione asked, groggily. "Where's Ro ... where's _Harry_! Ennie ... Voldemort! Is he here?!"

"It was just a nightmare, Min," said Enola softly, as Hermione tried to get up. "Harry's quite safe. He's exhausted and resting, but he'll be fine."

"What about Riddle? And Ron?"

"Harry banished them," said Enola. "They're no wiser to where we are. Ron's been trying to break into your mind for hours ... since Harry booted him into the middle of next week. Whatever nightmare you were having, that was _his_ doing. It wasn't _real._ "

"I ... I can sort of remember," said Hermione, her tense shoulders finally sagging. "But you ... I've _felt_ you close by, too. What have you been doing to me?"

Enola bristled nervously. "Sorry, Min, don't be cross, but ... I had to enter your mind. Only to a sub-surface level ... I didn't go too deep, I swear. But I had to help defend you from Ron's attacks."

Hermione sat up fully and pierced Enola with a curious stare. "You've been protecting me ... _in my dreams?_ Why?"

"Ron's being trying to use the mental connection he has to you to break into your mind," Enola explained. "He frightens you so much ... I know properly now ... so I couldn't let you face him alone. Oh _Min! ..._ if I'd known how bad it was ... I'd never have suggested to Nev that we use you in the ritual. Please forgive me."

"That was all your idea?"

Enola nodded sheepishly. She couldn't read Hermione's expressions just now.

Then Hermione smiled at her. "I should have known only a warrior woman could come up with something like that. Something that gave zero fucks as long as the end was worth it. But what happened with Harry?"

Enola looked startled. "You aren't mad at me?"

"Is Harry okay? Are we safe?"

"Yes and yes."

"Then there's nothing to forgive," said Hermione, brightly. "I was wild to help Harry ... but you stopped me from opening the Chamber and doing untold damage to the palace. What would have happened if I did? Nev said it would have destroyed everything."

"It would have let those Dark forces explode into our home," Enola agreed. "It could have given away our location. I had to think of my daughter, of all of us ... that's why I had to sedate you by force. Plus, they were trying to fight Harry in his _personal_ ritual space. That was singularly fucking dumb of them, by the way. It's the one site on the planet where Harry Potter wields the power of a fucking _god_. There odds weren't even ... for _them._ "

"So, that's where Harry plans to kill Riddle in the end?" Hermione surmised, nodding in her understanding. "And where we are going to go stone-age on Ron Weasley. I felt _everything_ about Harry in that chamber, Ennie. It was incredible. Have you ever felt his energies like that?"

"No," said Enola. "Harry always fiercely controls the interactions in there, keeps everyone at arm's length. Well, except _you_ it would seem. What was it like?"

"I literally don't have the vocabulary to explain it," said Hermione breathily, hitching her knees to her chest. "It was a sort of deep, intimate intensity of a type I never knew existed ... as though every particle of Harry was a charged, energetic force that I could just reach out and touch if I wanted to. And I _so_ wanted to. It was electrifying, even when I was scared. I'll tell you one thing, though ... sex in there will bring the walls crashing down! Just saying."

Enola hooted with laughter. "Oh Min! I love you, you know? I'm sorry I had to spell you ... but you were like a little wildcat!"

Hermione chuckled. "I can barely remember it, to be honest. But I'm so, _so_ sorry that I spat at you. That was singularly disgusting of me. Are we still friends?"

"Always," Enola chirped brightly. "What's a little bit of saliva between us girls, that's what I say!"

"This place is just riddled with lesbianism, isn't it?" Hermione laughed. "I am sorry, though. That was a shameful thing of me to do."

"Hitting you with magic when you were wandless was hardly any less honourable," Enola pointed out. "It was cowardly, really. Harry will be livid with me when he finds out I did that."

"You did what you had to," Hermione told her firmly. "It's good to know that you can. I would hate to be so out of control that I became a threat to my friends. Harry scared me a little in the way _he_ was, if I'm honest. I'm going to have to have a long talk with him about his temper. I'm happy for you to be able to subdue me, if you ever need to do it again."

"I barely could," Enola admitted. "You are frighteningly powerful, Min. I could barely contain you."

"But you did," said Hermione, reaching out and squeezing her hand. "And if you need to again, you have my permission."

"I doubt I'll be able to for very much longer," Enola confessed. "I don't think you've recovered your full strength yet. It's not been two months since you arrived here, but give it a few more and only _Harry_ will be able to exert any sort of control over you. And you will be a match even for him."

Hermione blushed. "I'm _already_ a match for him! In every way."

Enola chortled at that. "Yes, you are. It amazes me that Weasley was able to keep you so downtrodden, given how powerful you are."

"Trust me, I've been thinking the exact same thing myself," said Hermione, bitterly. "I just lost hope, I think, and my power sort of went with it. I could have freed myself from Ron any time I wanted to. But where would I have gone? I often thought it would have been better to just be dead ... and I considered taking matters into my own hands on more than one occasion."

" _Oh Min!_ Don't tell me that's true!" Enola cried in horror. "You've had such a wretched time of things, haven't you? Harry will make it all better. He'll have to answer to me if he doesn't!"

Hermione grinned a moment, then her expression became stern and serious. "How is he? Can I see him?"

"He's wiped out, but he'll be okay," Enola reassured her. "He burned himself out, but he'll recover in a few days and be as good as new. Though I think it's best, for now, that you stay away from him."

Hermione frowned. "Why? What's wrong with me?"

"It's not what's _wrong_ with you," said Enola, shaking her head exasperatedly. "But what's _right_. Harry has forged a deep connection to you. He always had it, but it was singularly one-sided ... for the longest time. But now, since he's learned that you return all his feelings as powerfully as you do, it's intensified beyond anything either of us could have conceived. The connection is coming from you now, too. It's beautiful in every other circumstance, but dangerous to Harry while he's so weak."

"I don't understand," Hermione asked, flushing crimson in her confusion.

"Harry's magic has been stretched to breaking point," Enola explained. "He needs all he has left to stay stable, as well as to start his recovery. But when he's anywhere near you, his magic _reaches out_ for you. It seeks you, wants to join with you. He's too weak to risk sparing any to make that link just now, but he can't consciously control it in his current state."

"So, when I'm near him, I'm _taking_ magic from him? Or diluting his reserves? Is that what you're suggesting?" Hermione asked, slightly horror-struck at the notion.

"Exactly," Enola confirmed. "And restricting his powers of recovery, too. When he's stronger, being around you will probably _help_ him. But for now, just give him a bit of space, as hard as that might be for you."

"But, if the connection is also coming from _me_ , as you say, can't I give him some of _my_ power, to speed up his healing?" Hermione asked.

Enola quirked a grin at her. "You _could_ ... so long as you knew how to guarantee not sending him so much that you accidentally overloaded his higher brain functions, ruptured his magical bloodflow or sent him into violent cardiac arrest. All of which are possible if you are off by even the _smallest_ miscalculation. Do you feel up to taking a risk like that?"

"Of course not," Hermione huffed, crossly. "Could _you_ do it? Act as a sort of conduit between us?"

"If you're happy for me to interact with Harry's most intimate magical energies ... and yours, too ... then yes," Enola smirked, shrewdly. "But, be advised ... it'd be less intimate for the three of us to have the wildest sex, from pretty much now until the day we die, than for us to touch energies in that way for more than just a few seconds. But, of course, the choice is yours!"

"Okay. I'll do what you ask. I'll stay away from him," Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "But, hang on ... I'm confused. How can I be both a threat and a possible cure for Harry?"

"Put it this way," said Enola, patiently. "If Neville was badly hurt, my power could heal him in a way that no other Healer's could. Our core energies, our very spiritual essences, have fused in the most primal of ways. They are pretty much _one_ now. That comes with certain benefits ... and unique Healing is one of them."

Hermione shifted as she processed Enola's suggestion. She massaged an ache in her chest as it settled on her.

"That's because of your marriage, isn't it? Is that what you're saying?"

Enola nodded with a smile. "Harry performed a proper, _natural_ wedding ritual for us. A marriage ceremony isn't just saying nice vows and exchanging rings for the sake of it, you know. It's about giving into those vows absolutely and completely ... committing everything to one another. Magic just allows that bond to be sealed using a real, energetic force ... one that can be measured and studied. I made vows to Nev, and he to me ... and then Harry simply used his magic to bind us, and all the forces of our lives, together, into something far greater than we could ever have been as individuals."

"And you think that mine and Harry's energies are trying to do that now? Harry created that sort of connection for you?"

"It wasn't quite like that," Enola tried to explain. "Nev and I had already joined together on a deep, emotional level. Harry just sealed it, empowered it, and protected it with the wedding ritual. It made me and Nev unspeakably closer. I didn't think I would ever get that close to another human being in my life, to know them so intimately, and in such indefinable ways. But it's incredible. I would die without it now, but I could also heal Nev _with it_."

"Because it's a unique force between you?" Hermione asked in wonder.

"Exactly. One based on how much we love each other."

"And you think that _I_ could have the same sort of impact on _Harry_ one day? You think our connection is as powerful as _that_?"

Enola smiled and nodded. "Perhaps even _more_ than that. Which is why you _seriously_ need to stop seeing me as a threat to you, silly!"

Hermione blushed with a guilty sigh. Her voice was rather small when she finally replied. "You've noticed that, have you?"

"Just a little," Enola quirked. "What will it take for you to understand that, although Harry and I are really close, it is not in _that_ way? And never has been or will be? I am, quite literally, _consumed_ by Neville and our little girl. Just as Harry is obsessed by, and infatuated with, _you_. Our hearts are so full of love for our partners that we don't have much to spare for anyone else. Surely, you must know by now the intensity of emotion you invoke in him?"

Hermione smiled to herself as she considered it. "I'm starting to realise it more and more. I find it startling, and humbling, and even a little tough to accept at times. I ... I actually feel a bit guilty for having it, to tell you the truth. But I'm rabidly covetous of it at the same time, you know? I'm sure I don't deserve it. I cant really explain it properly. But I almost feel, I don't know ... _wrong_ , in a way, to be loved like that."

Enola looked at her, deeply puzzled. "That's a weird thing to say. What could possibly be wrong about it? Don't tell me you're feeling _guilty,_ for cheating on that bell-end husband of yours!"

"Oh, fuck no," Hermione cried, vehemently. "It's nothing to do with that skrewt-fiddler. Well, I suppose it _is,_ really, but definitely not like that. _Cheating!_ Pfft! The only infidelity I've ever committed was against _Harry ..._ and his memory ... by allowing my subjugation by that ginger wank-stain."

Enola barked out a laugh. "Glad to see you've got your anger under control again! I swear, Hermione, even your _bad_ language has a sort of poetic elegance to it. I'm quite envious!"

Hermione scoffed. "At least my perception isn't skewed. _Cheating on Ron!_ Honestly! He gave up any right to expect my faithfulness from the first time his fist left a bruise on my cheek."

"Hermione, love, that bastard relinquished any claim of the sort a _long_ time before that. Harry's told me enough to know _that_."

"And you wonder why I'm so jealous of your relationship!?" Hermione cried, hotly. "Harry has shared private things with you. I've known him for a long time, Enola ... he doesn't do that with just _anyone_."

"Except _you_ ... but he didn't always have you around, did he?" Enola quirked with a grin. "Look, I understand where you're coming from, I really do, but you needn't be jealous of me. Harry and I are close because of the intimate nature of how I've helped with his healing. We've shared things he keeps from others ... but if he _didn't_ he would have lost his mind in a matter of _days_."

Hermione blinked at the starkness of that. "Go on."

"Harry had to open up his deepest fears to me, undress his _real scars_ in my presence, relive some of the things that have given him such a damaged life," Enola explained. "I don't need to tell _you_ how personal an experience that was ... for us _both._ He relied on me to be discreet with what he had no choice but to share ... and it created a deep bond of trust between us. We became friends naturally as a result. I know I'm rubbish when it comes to keeping most secrets ... but I keep the ones that count. And do you want to know the deepest one I knew first?"

"What was it?"

"I knew just how powerful Harry's love was ... for _you,"_ Enola smiled, causing Hermione to glow scarlet. "Probably even before _he_ did. His heart is _Hermione Granger-shaped_ , do you know? His entire life, all he's ever done is try to measure up for you. He might have only ever shown it in subtle ways ... like feeling he was letting you down if you'd found out that he wasn't doing his homework properly, or wasn't trying hard enough to decode clues in golden eggs, or throwing coins into a fountain just over a thought of you .... but it was always there. And no witch will _ever_ take that place in his heart. And _this_ witch doesn't even want to _be_ there ... so _stop_ being jealous of me, Miss Granger!"

"You just happen to be uncommonly _gorgeous_ ," Hermione huffed, clinging to the last of her arguments like a life buoy. "And I've seen the way you look at each other ... there's a definite attraction there."

"Min ... you've _felt_ Harry up close ... been drenched in the allure of his energy," Enola replied, evenly. "I think you'll struggle to find _any_ woman who isn't at least a _little_ attracted to him, so get used to being cross with the rest of the world, if _that's_ what you're aiming for. But is that what this is ... a purely physical thing?"

Hermione sighed and frowned. "To be honest, I think a lot of my problems are physical. It's what I meant earlier ... by this all feeling a bit wrong, in a way."

"How so? Please don't tell me you're regretting anything that's happened between you and Harry since he saved you?"

"No! Absolutely not!" Hermione cried, quickly. "That's not what I meant at all! It's the most incredible, the most wonderful ... oh, Ennie! ... I can't even think of good enough words to describe it! If I'm honest, I'm itching for _more ..._ for it to go further and _faster_. It's _Harry_ that's holding back ... and that's what's unsettling me."

"I don't follow," said Enola.

"I shouldn't be feeling like this, should I?!" said Hermione, sounding slightly manic now. "It's not normal, is it, that I'm so deliriously happy with Harry so soon after what I went through? Not so breathtaken by his magic, by his very _presence_ , that I just want to rip his clothes off and jump on him whenever I'm next to him! I feel slightly _feral_ when I'm around him, Ennie ... and more _alive_ than I ever thought was possible.

"But I shouldn't be, should I? After all I endured in my _marriage_ , _I_ should be the one, surely, who's afraid of the commitment, of the intimacy. But I'm _not_. In fact, I'm _frantic_ for it ... from simply holding hands, to the most passionate moments Harry and I have shared so far. I haven't kissed his mouth for a couple of days and it's driving me potty already.

"But then I think about it all ... and I feel guilty for being happy ... as though that version of me that _went through_ the suffering deserves more consideration. Then I feel guilty for _feeling_ _guilty ..._ I mean, why should I, when being with Harry is all I've ever wanted anyway, and I think I should be allowed to drown in the happiness now I'm with him? What does that say about me?"

Hermione's words were tripping over themselves to get out of her now. Enola considered that Hermione probably wasn't used to having _girl-time_... for someone to share and confess with in such an intimate way. She must have been bottling all this up for _weeks_. It did little to ease Enola's heartache where she was concerned. She was so bright and lovely, so worthy of being happy and grounded ... Enola felt a personal mission coming on to help her new friend.

"It says that you've been starved of affection, downtrodden in the worst of ways," Enola replied, simply. "And now Harry is showering you with every scrap of positive emotion he has ... and he has a _lot_ to give you! And you're thrilled by it. There's no shame in revelling in that, Hermione."

"No shame!" cried Hermione. "How can you say that? Don't you think it's _abnormal_ ... that I've gotten over my abuses so quickly? That my body now aches for things from Harry that made me physically sick when forced on me by Ron?"

"You told me before you dealt with those abuses by numbing yourself to them," said Enola, gently. "By making it a fucked up sort of normal, so that you wouldn't lose your mind. It detached you, gave you a way to cope. It wasn't sex to be enjoyed, or intimacy to bask in. ... it was lay back, get it over with, move on. It enabled you to _survive_."

"I know, I know," said Hermione, tiredly. "But I got so conditioned to it. Taught myself that's all there was to it. But now ... I _need_ physical intimacy with Harry, like he's a drug. I need to touch him ... all of the time. That's why asking me to stay away from him is like asking me to do without oxygen. I _have_ to be near him. But I've realised ... I _always_ have, this is nothing new. Even when we were kids. And it's not just because he makes me feel ridiculously safe ... which he does ... but my own body _yearns_ to be next to his ... to feel his heat on mine. But I've gotten so used to the cold. It's all so confusing."

"Do you want to know what I think? It explains a lot."

"It does?"

Enola nodded. "You shut yourself down when you married that fucktard you were forced to. Coped with the last five years almost like a second personality was there instead of you. Then, for _you,_ Harry comes back to life ... rescues you like something out of a fairytale ... and _you_ came back to life, too.

"I think ... without realising it ... when you thought Harry had died in that Forest, a huge part of you went with him."

Hermione let out a startled breath, a half-sob ... as though Enola's blatant truth had been hiding in plain sight this whole time. It seemed to hit Hermione hard in the heart, as if she had never heard such veritas in her entire life. Hermione massaged her throbbing chest as Enola began speaking again.

"Then Harry comes and reveals his love for you," Enola continued. "And you _both_ give in to how you've always felt for each other. Neither of you truly appreciates it just yet, but only you can heal the wounds of the other. You've made great strides already ... but you were both so physically damaged that the rest of us sometimes forget how bad it was for the pair of you.

"You want to be physical with Harry, despite what you've suffered sexually in the past. But the only person who Harry allows to truly _see_ him, let alone _touch him_ , besides my baby daughter, is _you_. I told you before, you don't understand what _getting under Harry's shawl_ really means to him. He lets me because he _has_ to ... his scar will poison him if I don't, make him ill, as well as causing him to smell like a corpse.

"But with _you ..._ he _wants_ you to see him so naked, so vulnerable. And that's not something _I_ thought would ever happen ... not _ever_. Harry wants you to look at him as he is, to accept him with _all_ his scars. That's what your love means to him ... he wants it so much that he exposes his most tender wounds to you, hoping you accept them even if they can never be healed ... happy knowing that as long as _you_ are happy now all of his own suffering was worthwhile ... and that your love might one day make it all better for the both of you."

Hermione tugged up the bedsheet to wipe furiously at her eyes, as Enola took a pause for breath.

"And _you're_ possessive of _his_ affections. I _completely_ get that. Starved of love, you don't want to share what Harry's offering you with anyone. It's all yours, and rightly so. I know how you feel, I really do. I'm very possessive myself, you know.

"Back when I was just Enola Hart, and not yet Enola _Longbottom_ , there was this one witch who made a play for my Nev. Offered him her Floo address and everything. Right in front of my face. I was livid!"

"When did that happen?"

"There was a nightclub in Gloucester, _The Protean,_ magicals only," Enola went on. "Nev and I went there to celebrate ... a few weeks after I agreed to marry him! Anyway, it was a masquerade ball, so Nev was able to hide his face. Then this slutty witch ... who was offering her _engorgio'd_ tits to the entire club, by the way ... started chatting to him whenever he went to the bar. She started getting a bit handsy with him after a few hours, too ... and that's when I flipped on her."

"What did you do?" Hermione chortled.

"I broke the silly bitch's nose with an ashtray!" Enola snorted. "Then I found out where she worked, and kept bombarding her with daily anonymous Howlers, for about a month."

"Why did you stop?" Hermione giglgled.

Enola froze, her breathing became ragged and all the colour left her cheeks in a rush. Her voice was _unbelievably_ quiet when she spoke again.

"I learned she was dragged in by the Muggleborn Registration Commission for ... for being a Muggleborn witch who ... who hadn't secured a marriage to a Pureblood wizard, despite her three month _Pre-Thirty_ warning."

Enola sucked in a shuddering breath, silent tears flowing feely from her eyes now. "You can probably guess the rest."

Hermione gasped in her horror. "Oh, _En!_ What happened?"

"She had seen Neville and his family crest ... he and Harry both had theirs tattooed on their wrists for their birthdays that year ... and she had only been trying to ... Anyway, she was hauled up before a show trial ... found guilty of her ... _failing_ _s as a witch_ and ... and e-executed. She was only twenty-nine. Apparently, she'd spent every night of the previous _year_ in the club, trying to secure a Pureblood husband. She was just getting desperate when she saw Neville, his tattoo and no wedding or engagement ring. He'd taken his off because we were pretending to be on a first date that night. It's ... it's not my proudest moment."

Enola slumped against the bed, heaving tears as the memory consumed her. Hermione leapt up to comfort her, rubbing her shoulders as she wept.

"I hate the world," Hermione bitched, angrily. "I hate _everything_ outside of the palace wards. I sometimes close my eyes and fume at it ... hoping my very ire can burn it all down if I wish hard enough for it."

Enola sniffled and chuckled at that.

"That thing with the girl in the club wasn't your fault," Hermione went on, comfortingly. "It's Riddle's fault ... and Ron's ... and the fault of all the other bigots who brought this Pureblood mania down on us all. But not _you_ , you beautiful girl! We'll put it all right, I promise you that. We _all_ will. They've taken so much from us ... but they will take _no more_."

Hermione stood up and paced angrily to her favourite window and back again, glaring out fiercely at the world beyond the grounds.

"They hurt us ... and we just take it ... they rob us of our freedoms ... and we just let them go with barely a whimper," Hermione seethed. "Well _no more!_ Do you hear me? A line _must_ be drawn ... and it must be drawn here! And I swear to you, Enola Longbottom ... for me, for Harry, for every _single_ innocent life ever touched by Lord Voldemort ... we will make them _pay_ for what they have done!"

Enola steeled her features, hauled herself to her feet and slipped her hand into Hermione's. Her gaze settled again on the hated ring she wore on her wedding finger.

"When are you going to marry Harry, Hermione? You are _so_ his perfect Queen."

"So everyone keeps saying," Hermione smiled shyly. "But that's another concern, too."

"What is?"

"Well, for all the wondrous things that you said Harry and I could do as a couple, it goes both ways, doesn't it?" Hermione moaned. "I _am_ married to Ron ... no matter how much I wish I wasn't. He told me pretty much the same thing you just did ... that our wedding vows go far beyond mere _words._ Only _his_ intent isn't quite as wholesome!"

"Ahhh!" Enola cried, in something like triumph. " _Did he_ , now? Harry will be _fascinated_ to know that!"

"He will?" Hermione asked, her heart rising in hope at Enola's tone. "Why?"

"Well, isn't it _obvious_?" Enola twittered joyously. "Ron's just given away the secret of his power over you ... it's all in your Marriage Bond!"

"And that's a _good thing_?"

"Oh, yes!" Enola sang. "For a standard Marriage Bond is just that ... a _standard bond!_ Harry can design a ritual to snap those as easily as crushing a dry twig between his toes! All he will have to do is make sure that there aren't any hidden Dark tethers to _you_ and you'll be free! Then _you_ will be free to marry him and the entire _palace_ will be having sex on your Wedding Night! Well, assuming my Nev is ... er ... _up_ to the job ..."

Enola turned her eyes down in shy shame. Hermione took her hand in friendly concern.

"Are ... are you and Neville having ... er ... _troubles_ ... in the bedroom, I mean?" Hermione asked, delicately. Enola nodded, and Hermione gasped in surprise. "How is that possible? Harry always makes out that you two are all over each other like a bad rash!"

Enola flicked her eyes up. "Oh, we _are ..._ but we never go _all the way_ these days. Nev can't ... _rise to the occasion_ ... if you get my point."

"Why not ... if you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't know," Enola confessed, sadly. "It's only been for the last six months or so ... I thought maybe he wasn't dealing with the stress very well ... of parenthood, and the war, and the risks it places on me and Ally. Thought maybe it was putting him off. But I've tried _everything_ to get him back in the mood ... dressing up, dirty talk, I left some naughty photos in his wallet ... they move, you know ... so I was _very_ explicit in them ..."

Enola blushed and looked at the floor.

"To be honest, Ennie, if you can't get him turned on just by being in the same _room_ , I think you need to look at the bigger problem!" Hermione smirked. "You realise you're hotter than a ghost chili, don't you?"

Enola giggled. "Thanks. Harry says that about you, you know."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "H-he does? Well, that's ... um ... well ... he did? You know, I kind of hate Harry a little bit. He has this annoying habit of making me want to kiss his face off at times he's nowhere near me!"

Enola laughed. "Keeps you keen, though! Anyway, I don't know what else to do. Nev just doesn't seem interested anymore."

"Well, that's the biggest load of bullshit ever spoken," Hermione scoffed, dismissively. "I've heard some of the filthy things Neville thinks about _you_. Lack of interest really _isn't_ the problem. Seriously, Ennie, all of the life in this palace would erupt into a mass brawl to line up to fuck you, if they thought they were in with a chance. Wizard, witch, elf, _ghost_... even the _statues_ would come to life at the chance to get into _your_ knickers!

"And Neville wants you more than any of them. Would violently beat them all into submission for even _looking_ at you in the wrong way. What you need is some alone time. Sod the war for a couple of days. Leave, go somewhere, just the two of you. Me and Harry will look after Alison. Have romantic daytimes, and turn the nights over to raw passion. And, just in case, take an anti-dysfunction potion, or use an Engorgement Charm."

"You seem pretty clued up on this, Min," said Enola, shrewdly. "Didn't have a bit on the side during your loveless marriage, did you?"

"Only one that was _battery powered_ ," said Hermione lightly. "But Ron, thankfully, wasn't all that attracted to me. Oddly, it was only when he thought about the future wives being groomed for him that he got really excited. He often talked about that during our monthly commune. I'm hoping it was the idea of being able to dominate more than one witch that got him hard and not their age ... for some of them were really quite young.

"Anyway, he struggled to get an erection for the last few years. And I had to have sex with him, or I could be up for investigation, or possible internment at one of the labour camps. There was a charm on me to prove I had been properly penetrated. So I developed the strongest anti-erectile dysfunction and arousal potions I could, and mastered the Engorgio Charm. To be honest, I might have needed Engorgio even if we'd married for the right reasons. Seriously, he barely touched the sides when he stole my virginity!"

Enola cackled at that. "Would ... do you think ... I mean, would it be too much to ask ..."

"Of course I'll brew them for you," said Hermione. "They don't take long. Just get me access to Cassie's lab for a few hours. I _guarantee_ Nev will last longer than that!"

Enola's eyes widened, her expression dreamy. "Thank you, Min. I owe you. What can I do for you in return?"

Hermione steeled her expression. She'd been thinking long and hard about this. "Teach me how to fight. I mean _properly._ I want to become an Acolyte of St David, like you and Harry's mum. I'm not good enough for him just now. But I _so_ fucking will be. I swear it on our unborn children. I want his Mum to be proud of me as her daughter-in-law ... maybe for his Dad to fancy me just a bit.

"Enola ... help make into me the Queen everyone keeps telling me I can be ... please?"

Enola looked at her resolutely, testing her sincerity. Hermione met her gaze steadfastly. Satisfied at what she found, Enola nodded.

"It wont be easy," said Enola. "And it involves some serious oaths and a blood ritual. Oh, and a sacrifice."

"What sort of sacrifice?"

"One of your modesty and inhibitions," Enola explained. "The ritual is conducted in a coven of naked witches. You have to shed your earthly shields and open up to nature fully. The infusion of power you gain is worth it, though."

" _Naked_?" Hermione mumbled, shyly.

She looked ruefully down at her body ... and hugged into herself in concern. It had been a few years since Ron had revoked her membership of the local swimming club ... after he randomly decided one day that he didn't want other men to see her in a bathing costume anymore. Hermione had long since lost the trim physique her regular fifty lengths had given her. And as her toning and definition went one way, Ron's body-shaming flew in from the other to fill in the void, leading to Hermione harbouring a deep fear of taking off so much as a _coat_ in public these day, less she be judged for looking so frumpy.

So the idea of being _completely_ naked with a group of strange witches was _not_ a prospect that filled her with joy.

"Is the nudity _really_ necessary?" Hermione muttered. "Can't I at least wear a slip, or something?"

"Absolutely not!" Enola replied, shaking her head. "If you aren't brave enough to shed your clothes in front of other women, how will you have the courage to slit the throat of one if they threaten your loved ones?"

Hermione considered that and nodded. "Fair point, I suppose."

"We can't tell Harry, though, not until it's too late for him to change anything," Enola told her.

"Why not?"

"Well, apart from the fact that he'll probably have a fit, because you'll be committing yourself to be in greater danger, he might have a _bigger_ fit at the idea of you being naked!" Enola laughed. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he drools over you enough as it is when you're fully clothed ... he might spontaneously combust if sees you with all your lady parts on display!"

Hermione blushed, but thrilled wildly at Enola's validation at the same time. She had to confess that she'd been too busy _kissing_ Harry to really notice any of the ways in which he looked at her ... but she would _definitely_ be on the look out for it now. The idea of Harry _objectifying_ her so blatantly should have irritated her feminist sensibilities ... but instead it stirred crazy flutterings all throughout her body. In fact, the very _idea_ of Harry _fantasising_ over her just made Hermione want to show off for him more, to drive him as wild as he did her. It was a delicious train of thought.

And just like that, Hermione couldn't _wait_ to get her clothes off! "So ... when can we set up the ceremony?"

"I'll have to nominate you formally," Enola explained. "I'll do that as soon as I can. Harry might hate me for it, but I happen to think you're right on this, so Harry can just put up with it. Then we just need six other witches for the ritual, to make a Circle of Seven with you. I'll be one ... then we'll drag in Fan and Ann ... because those girls are never shy at getting their tits out ... and I'll ask Cassie, Alice and my Mum ... oh, and we'll need Narcissa Malfoy."

Hermione gasped. "Narcissa? What do we need her for?"

"She's the Head Acolyte, only she can conduct the ritual," Enola went on. "I'll contact her, and she can make the arrangements."

"Alright, if that's how this has to be done," Hermione scoffed. "I was hoping it would be a simple thing, something we could do within the next few days or something."

"We can't do it sooner, we need to prepare the ritual space," Enola sniffed. "Besides, I'm too worried to block out my negative energy right now ... and so are you. We wont be focused enough for the ritual."

"Why are you worried?"

Enola shook and sighed. "Nev's heading out tonight. Intelligence gathering. He's done it before, and he's taking his Dad ... but still ..."

Her words failed her again. Hermione squeezed her hand.

"He'll be alright, you know," said Hermione softly. "He's used to taking risks. Besides, his Dad will look after him."

"Yeah, I know," said Enola, staring wistfully out of the window, as if hoping to see Neville looking back. "It's just that ... the world is so much more dangerous now. And, though I know I shouldn't say it, I always knew that Harry could go to the rescue if Nev got in too deep before. But now ..."

Her voice tailed off. The concern was gouged into every scrap of her porcelain complexion, settled fitfully behind her bright, green eyes. Hermione looked desperate to soothe her worry, but didn't know how. She had enough of her own over Harry, and neither situation could guarantee a positive outcome.

"Oh, look at me! Getting all morose," Enola cried out, suddenly. She drew a steadying breath. "You're right. Nev will be fine. He'll kick ass if he has to. I can't do anything about that. But what I _can_ do is help _you._ So, grab your wand and follow me."

"Where are we going?" asked Hermione jumping up and following Enola from her bedroom.

"Harry and Nev's duelling suite," said Enola, bluntly. Then she grinned. "I owe you for punching my husband in the chops! Who knows how long his cock will take to get over _that_ humiliation! It isn't wise to deny an antsy woman with a wand, you know!"

Hermione chuckled back. "Okay. But Harry ... he will be alright, yes?"

"He needs to rest," said Enola. "I've helped him into his _Safe Space_ ... a level of his Mindscape we designed where he is free of all concerns. He will be relaxing there, quite content. And when he gets _discontent_ , he will be healed enough to leave. But now, I have a challenge for you."

"Which is?"

"I've heard tell that you are the most powerful witch of the age," said Enola, shrewdly. "It's high time you _p_ _roved_ it to me. Only a witch that can out-duel _me_ will be good enough for _my_ Harry ..."

Enola winked teasingly at Hermione, who grinned back. And accepted the challenge at once.


	20. Daddy Issues

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Neville drummed his fingers on the hilt of Gryffindor's Sword in his belt, as he paced around the hilltop. He was impatient, restless. But not through fear. He'd been taking this sort of risk for ages, longer than Harry, even. For when Harry had been abroad being tooled up for war, it had been Neville who had borne the brunt of the risks on the infinitely more dangerous Home Front. Not that he resented Harry for any of it. It was quite the opposite, actually. He felt proud to be Harry's most trusted General ... and Harry was always appreciative of the risks and efforts he undertook. They were a tandem operation.

And it had given him the coolest skill set. Stealth, evasion, espionage ... it was one hell of a fucking life as far as adrenaline rushes went. And Neville had proven to be very good at it, which made him love it even more. His early life hadn't been flush with success and respect, so he relished his adroitness now. The fact that he got to stick two fingers up to the most dangerous dark sorcerer in the world just made him feel even more of a badass.

And he _liked_ that.

But, still, that now familiar niggle pinched at the back of his thoughts. His mind could never fully be on _field work_ now. Two-thirds of it were permanently planted miles away, at that beautiful spot in Wales, where his stunning wife and beautiful daughter were safely ensconced. Oh how he'd love to just live there with them, raise a family and see if he could ever master the local language!

It was a simple dream, but a million miles away right now.

So he paced, and fretted, and waited for the Portkey at his feet to turn blue. If it didn't, they had problems. But he had a few minutes before he had to consider the ramifications of _that_. And in those few minutes he could think about his daughter, so pure and happy and a bundle of joy. And how his heart would be ripped to pieces if Tom Riddle ever slashed at her throat ... as he'd so mercilessly done with the Queen of England.

The very idea made Neville throw up a bit in his mouth. He spat it out and took a series of deep breaths. Then he went back to pacing.

"Nev, son, you need to give it a break. I'm an old man ... I'm exhausted just _watching_ this marathon you insist on walking!"

Neville stopped and laughed. "Sorry, Dad. I forgot you were a cretin!"

"Hey! I said _'old' ..._ that does not mean I am _'cretinous'_."

"Is there a difference? I've never noticed."

"You know, you may be a full-grown adult with a wand these days, but that doesn't make you beyond a spanking from your old Dad!" said Frank, chuckling.

"That's child abuse, Father," said Neville in mock seriousness. "Do the CSA or Childline have a wizarding branch? I can pass your details on to them easily enough!"

Frank heaved with laughter. "Oh, Nev ... they'd take one look at you and decide I was being too _lenient_. But, by all means, make a rod for your own back if it makes you happy."

"Shut up, Dad," Neville smirked.

"But, seriously ... what's wrong?" asked Frank. "You seem troubled."

Neville stilled and blushed. "Just worried, you know? For Ennie and Ally ... you and Mum ... the whole lot of us, really. We are at open war, now, in case you hadn't noticed. When we were darting out of the shadows and giving those Death Eater pricks a little _prick_ or two, it seemed daring, exciting. But now ... I don't know ... it seems a hundred times more _real_ , more dangerous. I suppose it's just playing on my mind a little bit more."

"Ahh," said Frank, sagely. "And your cock, so I'm told!"

"Dad! What the actual fuck!" Neville cried, hotly. "What a thing to say to me!"

"Why ... when it's the _truth_?" asked Frank, unabashed.

Neville coloured in the rapidly dimming evening light. "I'm not discussing this with you."

"Yes you _are_ , Nev," Frank disagreed, sternly. "I don't want to point out the bleedin' obvious, son, but I'm not just your father ... I'm a _man,_ too. I might just know something about this."

Neville turned around. "Y-you do? What do you know?"

"Tell me your problem first. Maybe we can compare notes."

"I don't _have_ a problem!"

"Your wife disagrees ... and so does your _mother_!"

Neville's face dropped, his eyes fraught with timid embarrassment. " _Mum_ knows about this?"

"Of course she does," Frank replied, dismissively. "Who do you think told me?"

"And I suppose Ennie told _her_ ," Neville bitched. "I'll have to have a serious chat with her when we get home ... this is supposed to be _private_."

"You should be thankful, son, that your wife and mother get along so well," Frank quirked. "You're lucky ... you should have _seen_ some of the battles that your Mum had with your Gran ... they were _epic_!"

"Mum and Gran didn't get on?" Neville asked, curiously. "I never knew that."

"I was an only child, and you know what your Gran was like ... fierce as a dragon with a sore head!" Frank chuckled. "An army of _angels_ wouldn't have been good enough for her only boy, so poor Alice was a brave witch to take on a Longbottom. But then, she was a _Slytherin_ ... and she needed all of her cunning to get my Mum to warm up to her!"

"Mum was in _Slytherin?"_ Neville whispered, honestly a bit put-out. "I never knew _that_ , either! And did Gran ever warm up to her?"

"In the end," Frank nodded, wistfully. "But by the time she did ... well, that bitch Bella Lestrange came along ... to pay a visit to her _best friend_ from their Hogwarts days ... you know what happened next."

Neville blinked in shock. "Mum ... and Bellatrix ... _w_ _hat?"_

"That's a story for another day, son," Frank waved him off. "Right _now,_ your Mum has insisted that I talk to you about this problem with _your_ one-eyed snake! _"_

"Dad! Seriously!" Neville moaned. "I don't want to talk about it ... certainly not like this!"

"Is it a sex problem?" Frank went on, stubbornly, his concerned tone robbing Neville of his embarrassment. It was firm and, well, _frank_. "Because ... and don't take this the weird way it's going to sound ... but you do realise that you married a veritable _goddess_ of a girl, don't you? I wouldn't have expected you to have bedroom problems, not when you have a witch like _that_ waiting for you every night!"

"Of course I do!" said Neville, grinning despite the oddity of the conversation. "We've been married for three years now but, sometimes, I still just out and _stare_ at her. For no reason at all ... well, other than she's fucking _divinity_ _incarnate,_ of course. I have to pinch myself that I married her."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I ... I don't know," said Neville, his voice tiny. "I've just stopped ... being able to be intimate. In a, well, _practical_ sort of way."

"Ah ... I see."

"I know Ennie is getting frustrated by it, too," Neville moaned. He turned his helpless eyes to his father. "I ... I'm turning into a terrible husband, Dad ... and I don't know what to do."

"The _first_ thing you do, is you stop thinking all this nonsense about being a bad husband," Frank replied, firmly. "You're a _great_ husband, and a doting father to boot. So you can put those ideas down right this instant, my boy!"

Neville smiled weakly in thanks. "Putting things down isn't really the problem ... getting them _up_ is the real issue. Did ... did you ever have that problem?"

"Me? No," said Frank, shaking his head. "Your Mum turned me on like a horny tap!"

"Oh, sweet _Merlin_ , Dad! Stop right now!"

"What? Do you think you got here by immaculate conception, or something?" Frank chuckled. "I don't know ... maybe you do. I never did get the chance to have the _birds and bees_ talk with you, did I?"

Father and son looked at each other a reticent moment ... then they chorused together. "Fucking Voldemort."

And they both fell back laughing.

"Look, Nev," said Frank, still grinning. "You and Harry, for all intents and purposes, brought your mother and I _back to life_ when you came for us ... certainly brought us back into _your_ life. You gave me a second chance ... to be the father to you that the Lestranges tried to deny me. I lost your childhood to them ... but being your father is a _forever_ job. If you need to talk, we can talk. No holds barred."

"Thanks, Dad," said Neville. "But I think this is a problem I need to work through on my own."

"You're wrong, son," Frank disagreed. "You are a _married man_ with a wonderful wife ... joined in a very unique type of marriage. There is _nothing_ you will do alone anymore, and you should be thrilled by that."

"I am," Neville grinned. "I really am."

"Then _use_ it," Frank encouraged. "Look, Nev, I'm not going to force you to talk about this with me, not if it embarrasses you. But, for Merlin's Sake, talk about it with your _wife_. She's a Healer with immense power, but that's nothing to how she can help you _emotionally_ ... and how you can help her. If you keep her out, she'll get lonely and upset. And that's a problem you can both so easily avoid. So, that's my fatherly advice for the day. I can face your mother in good humour ... so long as you agree to do as you're told like a good little boy!"

Neville barked out a laugh, but then his attention caught, as did his breath.

For the Portkey in front of them was glowing blue.

"On your feet, son," Frank commanded, leaping up and deftly pulling his wand. Neville rose, too ... unsheathing the Sword of Gryffindor as he reached his feet. He held the hilt tightly in his hand, feeling its warm power sweep up from his fingertips right to his shoulder. His great ancestors were with him tonight, ranged alongside him and his father.

The Portkey shook and rattled violently, then it shot up into the air, and created a swirling vortex of light and colour. A single wizard span into existence in the middle of it, before being dumped unceremoniously onto the ground, where he lay quite still a moment. Neville watched him carefully, his eyes fixed on his wand-arm. He didn't move initially, so Frank nudged him with his boot. The wizard moaned in response.

Neville bent down and looked at the wizard's face. Then he reeled back in disgust. It was horribly mangled. He was deformed, almost to the point of being unrecognisable. Neville had to cast a diagnostic spell at his body just be sure it was him. His face was slashed with deep lesions, his nose smashed and his eye sockets nothing more than bulbous, black lumps.

"Steve! Steven!" Neville asked pointedly. "Can you hear me?"

Steven Maxwell, one of the old Queen's Guard, groaned in response and tried to open his eyes. He could barely even manage that. Neville looked closely at him. He was clinging to life by only the merest of threads.

"Davies? Where is he?"

Maxwell shook his head with the tiniest of movements. Neville swore loudly. In the meantime, Frank knelt down at the wizard's side and passed his wand up and down Maxwell's broken body. Neville met his eyes as he completed the diagnostic. His expression was stony and grave and he, too, shook his head.

"Steve ... did you find her?" Neville pressed, though his tone was a little softer. "Did you find Luna?"

Maxwell moaned again by way of response, but it was a small movement of his hand which drew Neville's attention. Maxwell opened his fist and a bundled scrap of parchment fell out. Neville took it and read the single word written upon it ... and swore loudly as he did so.

"What is it, Nev?" asked Frank.

Neville handed over the parchment, spitting angrily at the ground.

Frank read the parchment. "Bollocks. Nev ... we have to abort this plan. We'll never break into _there_ without Harry's help."

"No, we have to proceed," Neville returned, stoutly. "After what we learned about the Death Eaters building that mass pyre in Nottingham ... we have to move quickly. If Luna's body ends up on that bonfire, then all she's learned for us over the past few years will be for nothing ... and our final plan will fail. Harry knows how important it is to prevent that.

"In any case, he's always had a soft spot for Luna ... he'd want us to make every effort to rescue her, if we knew where she was being held. And now we do."

"But that is a _military grade_ installation," Frank pointed out. "It wont be the standard grunts that are doing the guard work on a place like that. We can guarantee the elite of Section Seven at the very least."

"Then we'd better let the others know that this is the kind of shit that could get them killed," Neville growled, taking the parchment back. "They wont be happy with us if we don't let them share in the excitement. Rhian!"

Harry's head elf popped into view. She looked at the mangled body before her and screwed a stormy expression onto her face.

"I take Mr Steven back for healing," she said, stepping forwards.

"No, there's no call for that," said Neville, sadly. "Take him back by all means ... but have Gwillym prepare him a proper plot ... in the cemetery."

"Oh, Master Neville!" cried Rhian. "Is he that far gone?"

Neville nodded grimly. "I'm afraid so. Have your elves take good care of his body."

"Yes, Master Neville," said Rhian.

"And take this message to Lady Longbottom for me, will you?" Neville went on. "I've been gone for three days already. She'll be going crazy not knowing where I am."

Neville handed the now folded scrap of parchment to the elf. Rhian looked swarthily at him, as though she could read the writing on the closed, blood-splattered sheet.

"Master Neville going into silly danger!" she admonished, crossly. "Master Harry would not approve. And Lady Longbottom will kill you ... if yous get out alive."

Neville just chuckled at that. "We'll be alright. The Inner Circle are on their way. It's time to give old Tom Riddle a taste of what unified ritual magic can _really_ do."

Rhian growled, her battle laugh. "You want the elves to join?"

"Oh no, not yet," said Neville. "We will keep that little gem for another time. They put the shits up us with that little trick of pulling dead Dumbledore out of the hat. It's time to show the Deathies that we have a few surprises of our own."

"Master Harry still not approve," Rhian frowned. "He be very mad with yous when he finds out what yous doing. He tell yous off for a month for this caper."

Neville hooted another laugh. "Don't worry about Harry. I have the perfect tonic ... I'll just get Hermione to kiss him senseless, then he wont be able to tell me off! His gob will be too busy with Hermione's tongue _and_ it will put him in a good mood ... it's a plan with no drawbacks!"

"That probably work, too," Rhian nodded, grimly. "I go now, but yous be _careful_ Master and Master Longbottoms. You bes coming home to Lady Longbottoms when all this be done, yous hear Rhian?"

"Yes, ma'am," Frank and Neville chorused.

Then Neville exchanged a secretive, knowing wink with his father, who nodded back with a steely, war-like resolve ... they were ready.

Rhian reached down and placed a hand on Steve Maxwell's cold skin before Apparating them away. She didn't bother to tell Neville and Frank that the last Queen's guard had already died in front of them.

* * *

Harry lounged back in the hammock and stretched his arms above his head. It was another beautifully sunny day in Wales. He scoffed at the notion that it always rained here. He couldn't remember the last time it wasn't baking down and bright. Lying bastards. He might as well have been sunning himself in the Med. Okay, so he wasn't at the beach, rocking gently instead between two holly trees in his palace garden, but the ambiance was pretty much the same.

It was calm, serene. This was the life for Harry.

No cares, no worries. No impending death to avoid, or evil life to take. He wasn't chasing after Dark Wizards who put their cocks into snakes and split their souls just for poops and giggles. He was relaxed, carefree. If he wanted to run and play like he was a child again, he could. Not that he'd ever run and played much when he _was_ a child, of course. He _had_ run a lot ... from piggy Dudley Dursley and his gang of bullying bell-ends, and from Uncle Vernon's fists and steel-buckled belt, or from Aunt Petunia's clothes iron, her rolling pin and ... which may have been the worst of the lot ... her acidic, abuse-spouting tongue, and the belittling insults which lingered long after Harry's bruises had faded.

But none of it was what you'd call _play_.

The running didn't stop at Hogwarts either, really. Only _now_ Harry was being chased by said snake-bothering wizards, who liked to hide out in forests and drink unicorn's blood ... and twelve-foot trolls ... and giant serpents. And the occasional dragon. And the repeated recriminations of his school yard peers, the Wizarding Media and the magical public in general. Not to mention being hunted by arms of Wizarding Government just for the fun of it. Actually, Harry had been handed a pretty hard run of things, when he stopped to consider it all.

Which was what the hammock was for. He could lie here idly by the hour, going over all the fucked up crap he'd had to endure over the course of his wretched existence. All the while sipping cocktails from a magically-refilling glass. It was a bizarre contrast. But he could almost laugh at it now, marvel at all the things he'd experienced and that he'd somehow managed come through it all alive. He'd flirted with Death a few times, but they'd never gone much further than heavy petting. It was certainly a story to tell. One day, perhaps, maybe he'd write it all down, serialise his life story to give old Lockhart's books a run for their money. It was peaceful enough here, should Harry ever decide to try his hand at being a scribe.

The only thing he missed about the outside world was Hermione. One day he'd bring her down here ... down into the only part of his mind that she might actually _like_. They could spend years in here if they wanted, just being together without any earthly distractions. They could make up for all the time they'd lost trying to right the wrongs of the world, or pacifying misplaced love interests who were a very contradiction of the term.

 _Love_. Harry barely had any true notion of the idea until just recently. It was always something he was vaguely aware of, something he saw in others, but could never quite grasp in himself. Even when his mother had told him he was in love with Hermione, he didn't really believe it at first. He'd have known, surely? He'd hardly been out of her company for seven years, so any urge to take their relationship to something more than just best friends should have been right there in front of him, shouldn't it?

And people always said that you'd know when you were in love ... so why had it taken Harry so long, to understand the true nature of his feelings towards the most incredible witch he'd ever met?

He rather thought that their unusual closeness was probably part of the problem. Hermione was right there in front of him, or next to him, all of the time. And he had just grown so used to her being there, supporting him, checking him, becoming the voice of reason in a mind of chaotic recklessness, that he'd overlooked so many of the more obvious things that she was becoming to him. But some part of his psyche had realised it, and he had fallen in love with her for just that, without even consciously knowing that he'd done it.

Harry was a dense sort when it came to his emotions, he always had been. The early examples of love he been given to learn from always made things conflicted in his mind. Petunia and Vernon loved each other, and Dudley, but could spare not a drop for him. Sirius tried to protect him through aggression when he first came into his life, and the first girl to show an interest worshiped his legend and new nothing of the real him at all.

So Harry had little idea of how to spot real love when it finally came to him. He needed it to be spelled out and obvious before he could even begin the process of accepting it. So had it been where Hermione was concerned, too. They hadn't ever been apart long enough for him to pine for her, to miss her in a way that might have woken him up to how he was starting really to feel about her. And the only time he might have felt jealousy over a _love rival,_ Harry had the shadow of death hanging above him ... whether it be Krum during the Triwizard, or when Ron stormed off leaving him alone with Hermione in that god-awful tent.

That event might have been a trigger for Harry and Hermione to bond even closer, to be drawn together in a way that might have led to something far more intimate than they'd ever tried before. But it was hard to make the leap to getting hot and amorous, not when you were stuck with no food and little hope in a tent that smelled of unwashed Weasley.

Harry's life had been one of cruel distractions.

But he didn't know love would feel like _this_ , when he finally allowed himself to accept it. It was so _anarchic ..._ ranging to such extremes, for better or worse. It made Harry lose his mind either way. And he was senselessly content at either pole. Whether he was wildly enraged in his defence of his love, or passionate in embracing it, he was equally heightened, and so very alive. And, in a life that had diced so casually with _death_ , there was something to be said for that.

And Harry was confident that Hermione would like him so much better down here, he was sure of it. This is where he was calm and _could_ be playful if he wanted to, where no-one else would see that side of him. He'd gladly show it to Hermione, maybe see _her_ playful side, too, and they could frolic together with reckless abandon. And he could look at her with unimpeded vision, drink her in with _both_ his eyes ... for he had no scars in this plain, his wounds banished to another place entirely. And he was prettier, too, even if he said so himself. Hermione could have him all to herself, to do with as she pleased ... for they would be all alone.

Although, they _wouldn't be._

For Harry was blithely aware that he _wasn't_ alone for once. It was a niggle he'd been trying to swat away, like an irritating fly making moves for his cocktail glass. He tried to pass it off as his magic recovering. After all, he'd given Ron and the Death Eaters a _beating_ in the Ritual Chamber. Even Riddle had shown up in some form, if only to get a handle on what he was up against with the resurrected Harry. That wasn't a battle ground they'd be keen to meet him on again in a hurry. Dumb twats. He hoped he'd put the shits up them something good and proper.

But it had cost him a lot of magic. He was shagged out, in truth. He'd been on the hammock for _ages_ recuperating and regenerating _._ Merlin, it could have been _months_ that he'd been down here. He had no concept of the passage of time in this place. But he didn't feel a hell of a lot healthier yet. It had been one epic fight, and he needed some alone time to recover his strength.

But still ... this niggle in his mind ... one that just wouldn't leave him alone ...

It was constantly hovering on the edge of his awareness, like a darting movement at the corner of his eye. A barely perceptible, sprite-like presence, but a presence nonetheless. And that was concerning, for there was never anyone else down here. It was just him and his thoughts. Not even Enola came here. She just opened a path for him, but she never took it herself.

But this new presence _had._

It was soft, playful, but distinctly unfamiliar ... though undoubtedly _young_. It was skirting around the edges of Harry's mind as though tempting him to pay attention to it, and the more he thought about it, the more the irritant became an itch that he would just have to scratch.

Eventually, it got too much. Huffing, Harry pulled himself up from his hammock and began his search. It wouldn't be easy. This version of the palace was empty, devoid of life. Even the walls, which were charmed and enchanted to respond to him, were silent in this realm. It was Harry's mindscape, a facsimile of the real thing. It didn't work the way he'd normally use it. So this hidden life, wherever it was, would have to be located the old fashioned way.

So it became a game of _hide-and-seek_ now.

And Harry was a skilled hunter. He moved through the grounds, checking every lawn and copse until he was confident this elusive spirit wasn't there. Then he began a meticulous search of the house, locking rooms as he ticked off each one. Every now and then, he would catch a flick of movement down a corridor, or through a gap in a door, or between the railings of an upper-floor landing, and it was tempting to go after each one. But he wasn't to be distracted.

And as he chalked off each floor, he grew closer to his quarry. He felt it more, understood _her_ more. For he knew this was a girl ... and a young one at that. Not as young as Alison, but not as old as the youngest teenagers who lived in the settlements in the grounds. Harry had a fair idea who it was, but how she'd managed to penetrate his mind was a curious conundrum for him to ponder on his search.

Then he turned a corner of one of the top-floor corridors ... and there she was, standing waiting for him. As he'd suspected, it was the girl he had rescued from Glastonbury. This was damned peculiar.

"You found me!" she giggled. "People almost _never_ find me! This is going to be so much fun! It's your turn to hide now."

Harry strode forwards and offered the girl a warm smile. "My mother told me not to play with strangers. I'll play ... but I need to know who I'm hiding from first. You could be a _monster_... and I'd have to make my hiding place _really good_ if you were!"

"I am not a monster!" the girl protested.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her. "That's what all monsters say," he teased. He patted the floor in front of him, beckoning the girl to sit.

She mimicked his actions. "My mummy calls me her _little star_."

"Does she now?" Harry quirked. "And does the little star have an actual name?"

"My name's Celesca," said the girl, brightly. "And you're Mr Harry."

"You know me?"

"We're in _your_ mind, so of course I do!" said Celesca haughtily, looking around the corridor. "It's very quiet here. You must be lonely."

"I need a quiet space sometimes," said Harry. "It helps me think when I come here."

Little Celesca nodded. "Your mind _is_ very busy. I can tell that. You have lots and lots going round in it. It whirls and whirls like a nasty storm."

Harry eyed the girl curiously. "How do you know that?"

"I can see things," said Celesca, shyly. "Some things are far away ... but others are right in people's _heads_."

"And you've been inside my head?"

"I was only _looking_ ," Celesca returned, bashfully. "You saved me ... so I wanted to see what you were going to do with me ... if you were going to be like the Bad Men in the gold gowns or not."

Harry gazed at her in astonishment. She was biting her lip nervously, but Harry couldn't stop looking at her _eyes_ ... for her very irises seemed to be _moving_. It was as though they were pools of swirling liquid, shockingly bright and blue and in constant motion. Harry was borderline hypnotised by them.

"You're a _Seer?_ " Harry whipsered in surprised understading.

Celesca grinned shyly. "My mummy used to call me her _Little Alice_."

"Like _Alice Through the Looking-Glass_?"

"How do you know? That's a Muggle book."

"I was raised by Muggles," Harry explained. "And I've always loved to read. That was one of my favourites as as boy."

"Mine too!" Celesca chirruped. "Not that I was ever a _boy_ , obviously. Ew ... that would be _icky!"_

Harry chuckled. "I have a huge library here, you know. I'll be happy to show you round it ... if you want to talk when we wake up. Maybe you can show me which books you like to read."

Celesca suddenly looked terrified. "I don't think I'm ready to wake up just yet. I need quiet time, too."

Harry nodded sadly. "Because of what happened to your mother? I'm sorry, Celesca. If I'd have gotten there sooner, maybe I could have saved her, and your dad."

"Oh ... _they_ weren't my mummy and daddy," Celesca replied. "I had to _say_ they were ... when the Bad Men asked ... but they weren't, really."

"Okay," said Harry, slightly suspicious. "So, who were they?"

"That was Aunt Venusia and Uncle Colin," Celesca explained. "But I had to call them Mummy and Daddy. The Bad Men would have taken me away if I'd been with my real Mummy. But she didn't know I knew that ... so I had to be very good at pretending."

"So ... where _is_ your real mum?"

Celesca shifted awkwardly. "I can't tell you because you're a stranger. It's a secret ... one that was supposed to keep us _both_ safe."

 _"Supposed to?"_ asked Harry. "Are you saying it _didn't?"_

Celesca shook her little blonde head sadly. Harry wasn't sure if she was about to cry ... it was really hard to tell with those whirlpool-like eyes of hers.

"You can tell me what happened, you know," Harry cajoled. "You're safe here ... I'm not going to hurt you. What happened to your mummy?"

"I don't know," Celesca whined. "Only that they took her away and hurt her."

Harry ground his jaw angrily. "And where was your _daddy_ in all of this?"

Celesca frowned nastily. It took Harry by surprise ... her pretty features didn't seem capable of such vitriol.

"Don't mention _him_!" Celesca hissed. "He's a bad, bad man ... and no _daddy_ at all! He put me in my mummy's tummy without asking her. I saw it once in a dream. She cried so much when he did it ... but my mummy loves me, and even if she didn't want me to start with, she keeps me safe now. Well, she _did_ ... until my _daddy_ came to get her. He was the one who took her away."

Harry was primed to fighting concern now. "And where did they go?"

Celesca shook her little, white-blonde head. Glistening moisture appeared under her striking blue eyes again. "I don't know ... and I'm too scared to _See._ "

"If you were _very_ brave and had a very quick look, one that wasn't too scary," Harry began, gently. "I could go and rescue her."

Celesca looked up in blind hope. "You could?"

Harry nodded firmly. "If I knew where she was, I could certainly try."

"Why would you do that? For me? You don't know who I am or anything. Why do you want to help my mummy and me?"

"Because _I_ haven't had a go at being a Daddy yet," Harry explained. "I never knew my own Dad ... but I think he'd be the sort of Daddy who would help people if he could, so I want to be like him. And this would be a good chance to practice, don't you think?"

"Well, I suppose it _would_ ," Celesca replied, thoughtfully. "But it's very dangerous, Mr Harry."

"Dangerous? Why's that?"

Celesca closed her eyes. "Because I _did_ look for my Mummy once ... and she's not in a nice place at all."

"Describe it to me, if you can remember."

"She was in a little room ... or was it a box? I've never seen a room like that before. It was dark, and Mummy was standing up, but she was _very_ squashed. There should have only been one person in the box, see, but she had three more witches squished in with her. Two of them were crying because it was too hot for them like that. I think the one in the middle was sleeping. They didn't have any clothes on, but I don't think they wanted to be like that. I don't know what they were doing."

Harry fumed with anger. He felt his power surging to fuel his growing restlessness. He knew what Celesca was describing ... it was a particularly cruel type of torture chamber, one that kept the victim stood upright for hours on end and was frustratingly too small to get any kind of respite. Add in tightly packed other bodies, and very little fresh air, and the whole thing was a nightmare of an experience. Harry needed to help this poor woman, whoever she was, but these torture chambers were standard all over the internment camps. She could be anywhere.

"Can you remember anything else?" Harry pushed. "Something that might tell me where the box is?"

Little Celesca scrunched up her eyes, pulling the memory to the surface. "It was in a place with lots of long buildings. Lots of people, too. _I_ didn't think there was enough room in the long buildings for all the people ... there were just so many of them. And they all looked sad, but I thought it was because they all had to wear the same clothes. They didn't look very comfy in them."

It was definitely one of the camps then, Harry mused to himself. But which one? There were over a dozen to choose from.

"Do you remember anything else?" Harry urged. "A name sign or ... or a _flag?"_

"Ooh, _yes_ , Mr Harry! There _was_ a flag!" Celesca chirped excitedly. "It was on top of all the square towers ... I don't know what _they_ were for ... and it was red ... or was it orange? I don't know ... but I _do_ know what the little picture on it was."

"And what was it?"

"A _weasel_ , Mr Harry," Celesca chimed back. "I know because my Aunt Venusia was a vet and we had a weasel stay with us once for a little bit, while she was making it better."

Harry blinked in his shocked anger. A weasel sigil ... on a _ginger_ background ... only one of the new _Loyal Houses_ carried such a weak motif on its family crest ... and none other stirred Harry's anger with more potency.

He stood up and placed a comforting hand on Celesca's shoulder. "I think I know where your Mummy is. So, if I go and rescue her, will you try and be awake when I get back? I mean ... _properly awake_ ... in your own body?"

Celesca looked at him shrewdly. "That sounds like _cheating_ , Mr Harry. But if I _do_ , will you promise to look after me? I need someone to. I'm only _five_ ... and I cant look after myself, can I? And I think you'd make a pretty good pretend Daddy."

Harry felt his heart jolt at that, as though he'd missed a step on the stairs. The girl had a way of being startlingly disarming ... and not _too_ unlike another dreamy blonde he once knew ...

It _couldn't_ be ... could it?

But Harry didn't have much time to answer, for Celesca had stood up, suddenly solemn and serious. Something else was on her mind.

"You'd better tell me, Mr Harry ... better ... _hurry_."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Celesca glanced up at the ceiling, her eyes swirling more rapidly now. They looked like violent vortices. Harry couldn't say how he was sure, but somehow he _knew_ she was looking up at another world ... or, perhaps, another _time_.

"Mr Harry ... _please_?" Celesca asked in a whisper, her voice distant and fearful.

Harry was suddenly irrationally afraid ... but he couldn't have said why. "Of course I'll look after you. I promise. But why must I hurry to go now?"

Celesca returned her wide gaze to Harry. "Your _lady_ knows, too ... she knows where my _mummy is_. And her friend, the pretty one with the baby ... she's very upset. Her baby's Daddy is already going there ... and he's going to get into trouble ... and her baby might not have a Daddy anymore ... so your lady is going to try and _rescue_ him and bring him back. I do hope she's not too late ..."

Harry leapt up, taut and wired. "Lily!"

There was no flash of flame, no crackle of fire ... but suddenly, an elegant, leggy woman was stood before him. They exchanged looks.

"You know I don't like being without my feathers, Harry," Lily admonished. "I feel naked."

"You know what I'm going to ask you to do," said Harry, firmly. "Hermione's in danger ... so I need to share your power _right now_. I'm sorry ... I know how much Burning Days hurt you. And you've only just had one. Thank you for that, by the way ... you saved my life."

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat, as you well know," the phoenix-turned-woman sighed in response. "Come on, we don't have much time. Let's draw the circle. You cast the runes, and I'll set them aflame for you."

Harry nodded. "Thank you. Burn fast, my love, burn fast ... there's more than one witch we need to save tonight."


	21. A Low-Born Victory

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Enola was utterly mindless, frantically racing around from room to room and putting everyone more on edge than they needed to be ... and they were bad enough as it was. Hermione was flirting with the idea of subduing her magically, if only for her own good. If it wasn't for the fact that she was clutching onto her baby wherever she went, Hermione would have probably taken that extreme option by now. She understood her anxiety completely, but Hermione was in no mood to argue with her friend.

"Sit down, Enola! You are _not_ coming ... and that's _final_!" Hermione told her firmly, for at least the third time. She accepted her battle robes from Sally and stripped out of her regular clothes.

"You can't stop me! That's my husband out there!"

"And that's your daughter, crying for her mother!" Hermione shot back, nodding at Alison, balling away on her shoulder. "Her need is greater than Neville's right now. So go to _her!_ "

Enola tried to argue, but she couldn't think of one strong enough. So she just fumed for a moment instead, then went to comfort her daughter.

"In any case," Hermione went on, fastening the dragon-teeth toggles of her robe as fast as her trembling fingers would allow. "With Harry out of action, and Neville _in action_ , the defence of the palace falls to _you_. Your place is here."

"But Neville ..."

"Can take care of himself!" Hermione cried, cutting her off shrilly. "And he's not alone in the fight. Besides, I'll be there myself in the next few minutes if you leave me be!"

"And what do you intend to do?" asked Enola. "We've only had a few days of combat training together ... you aren't anything _like_ ready to lead a rescue mission!"

Hermione turned fiercely to her. "Do you have any better ideas? Will you force Harry to wake and go in my place?"

They both looked over at the bed near the window, where Harry was sleeping peacefully away, blissfully unaware of the dramatic events unfolding in his world.

Enola frowned. "You know I wont. He's still not recovered enough of his strength yet. His body shuts down in this mode, pretty much to a coma-like state, to allow his mind and magic to heal. He comes out of it when he's ready and able ... it isn't something I can force."

"Then I have to go, there isn't another choice," Hermione replied stoutly.

"There _is,"_ Enola tried again. "You stay and _I_ go."

"And potentially deprive that little girl of _both_ her parents?!" Hermione volleyed back, hotly. "Not if I have any say in it, Ennie ... not in a million."

Enola opened her mouth again, but she had finally run out of arguments. She sat on the edge of Harry's bed and practically willed him to wake up ... but he just slept on soundly.

"What will you try and do?" Enola asked quietly.

"I'm not going to _try_ anything," Hermione declared powerfully. "I'm _going_ to find Neville and the others ... and together we'll rescue Luna, if she's still alive. Now that he's started this reckless action we might as well _finish_ it. Then I'll burn that infernal place to the ground ... and if that fucking husband of mine is still inside it, so much the better! If not, at least I can get some closure by blowing the place to High Heaven!"

Hermione looked angrily at the piece of parchment on the desk. She eyed the single word, written in a nervous, bloodstained script ... and her restless anger bloomed again.

 _Hengest ..._ Home sweet _fucking_ home.

"Please hurry, Hermione," Enola groaned, desperately. "Don't let them kill my Nev ... don't let them take him from me ... I don't know if I can face a world without him!"

Hermione darted forwards and snatched the baby from Enola before she dropped her on her head. For Enola had suddenly forgotten how to breathe. She slid faintly from the bed to crumple on her knees, weeping profusely into the mattress. Hermione handed Alison to Sally, who cooed to her and took her to a safe corner.

"I'll bring Neville back," Hermione vowed faithfully, clutching Enola's tear-wracked body tight to her own. "I promise."

Just then, Cassie skidded into the nursery. She handed Hermione a handful of what looked like red ball-bearings.

"Magical bombs," Cassie explained to Hermione's confused look. "Condensed Explosive Hex in each one. Just aim and throw ... and they'll take down the thickest of walls with one a hell of a bang! They really kick-ass ... I think you'll find them handy."

"Thanks," Hermione grinned, as she pocketed the little ball bearings.

"Good luck ... _my Lady_!" Cassie smiled with a little bow. "Arianwen and I are prepping the infirmary ... just in case you can liberate some survivors from the Camp. I have to get back to it."

Enola whined on the ground next to them. Hermione took a steeling breath, then she summoned Rhian, who appeared with a _crack._ She didn't speak, just nodded at Hermione, who clutched her wand tightly in her shivering grip.

"We _will_ be back," Hermione promised to Enola as she looked up at her. "But ... if anything does go wrong ... take care of my Harry for me, wont you? Tell him I lo -"

"You'll tell him _that_ yourself!" Enola snapped back. "A promise is a promise, Min!"

Hermione took another heaving lung of air ... and nodded curtly. Then Rhian took her hand and whipped her away in a whirl of colour.

* * *

The Hengest Interment Camp courtyard was in utter disarray.

As Hermione materialised into the chaos and melee she found there, she didn't know quite which way to turn first. After all, she'd never seen the camp like this before. It was totally _devastated._ She looked one way and saw Frank Longbottom, furiously duelling with a trio of Section Seven Agents on his own ... and _winning_. There were even _reserves_ waiting to take up the fight when one of their comrades fell to Frank's wand.

Just to the right of him, Owain Glyndwr Jones was spinning his arms aloft high above his head ... and conjuring an _actual hurricane_... sending Death Eaters spinning away from him at literal breakneck speed. Their bodies were breaking against a nearby palisade wall, the wooden spikes of which were already soaked crimson with Death Eater blood.

Then there was Patrick O'Brien and David Pincott ... who were _literally_ on fire. They were like two men made out of pure, red-hot _flame ..._ burning and searing any enemies who were stupid enough to stray across their paths. Beyond _them_ , Hermione could see Angharad and Myfanwy, back-to-back, at the eye of their own personal storm. They were sending out spiralling waves of a magical force so powerful that they were cutting through the brickwork of a prison block nearby like a circular saw. Hermione watched the display in abject awe, then she saw Neville trying to push his way through an opening the girls had created.

"Rhian! Take me there!" Hermione commanded. "Right to Neville!"

And the elf obeyed. In a quick flash of light, Hermione was at Neville's side. She slashed her wand through the air and two Death Eaters nearby were blasted back at least twenty feet, where they lay quite motionless in an awkward heap. Neville span to look at Hermione, deeply startled to see her.

"Hermione? What are _you_ doing here?" Neville cried. "Don't tell me that you and Ennie -"

"No, it's just me ... Ennie's still back at home," Hermione replied. "Though I think you're probably safer here than you are there! You know that Enola is going to kill you for this little stunt, don't you? That's if you can get out of here in one piece."

"I can handle a telling off, so long as we get what we came here for," Neville frowned. He was sporting a black eye and a split lip. "But _you_ shouldn't be here. Harry will be _pissed_ with every single one of us when he finds out."

"He'll be pissed if any of us _die_ ," Hermione corrected him, angrily. "You shouldn't have done this, Neville. Not without planning it properly first."

"At the risk of sounding dismissive, Hermione, but I've been doing this sort of thing for a lot longer than you," Neville retorted. "I know what I'm doing ... and Harry trusts me to make decisions -"

"He'd have _never_ agreed to you doing this without him!" Hermione cut him off sternly. "And you know it! You're trying to play the hero in his absence ... and _he's_ bad enough at that as it is!"

Neville guffawed at that. "Yeah, he is a bit hit-and-miss isn't he! So, what now?"

"We have to get everyone out of here before one of us gets killed," Hermione scowled. " _That's_ your role now, do you think you can stick to _my_ orders, if you wont listen to Harry's?"

"We're not leaving ... not without Luna," Neville insisted, unmovingly. "We've taken all this risk just to get her back ... and none of us are leaving until we have her."

"I'll find her," said Hermione. "I have a much better chance than anyone at that."

"How do you work that one out?"

"Nev ... I lived here for over _two years_ ," Hermione seethed. "I had to accompany Ron on his weekly inspections of the camp facilities. I know my way around the network of tunnels, and workhouses and torture suites better than most of the senior guards. I know all the blind spots, too, so I've got a better chance of sneaking around unnoticed than any of us. I'm the best option ... you have to see that."

"You even _being here_ shouldn't have been an option to start with," Neville huffed. "Look out!"

Neville pushed Hermione behind a wall and flicked a powerful spell at a Death Eater guard who had spotted them. He crumpled to the floor where he'd been standing, quite dead. Then Neville looked back at Hermione, battling with his indecision.

"Oh, for fuck's sake ... just _go_!" Hermione commanded, losing her patience with him finally. "I know how to take care of myself. Just be ready to get us the hell out of here once I have Luna."

"Alright, fine," Neville huffed back at her. "Right, we know that this is the High Security wing ... and that all the Potter Supporters are being imprisoned here. Find Luna, get her out, then we go.

"Just know this, Hermione ... we _have_ to find Luna, but if we cant get her out, we must make sure that she cant tell Section Seven what she knows about Harry. If we can't reach her ... then we have to _silence her_. She cant give up her secrets, they're too vital to our final plan and, as much as I'd hate myself for doing it, I will _make sure_ she doesn't. I have to be absolutely clear on that ...

" ... you have fifteen minutes ... then I'm gathering everyone up and we're coming in with everything we have."

Hermione faced Neville square-on, staring at him fiercely.

"I'll be out in ten."

Then Hermione raced into the undercroft of the building and Neville darted off across the smashed courtyard.

* * *

It was oddly quiet down here, the air cool and prickly with moisture. Hermione could still hear the ferocious battle raging outside, but it was dim and dull and little more than background noise now. The cracks and bangs, the screams, the crashes of falling brickwork, it was all going on above her ... but Hermione felt somehow detached from it all. She was set to task, focused on a singular goal, one she felt was within her remit. Fighting and duelling was the domain of Harry, and Neville, even Angharad and Myfanwy.

But covert resistance ... this was something far more up Hermione's street.

And she could use put her insider knowledge of the camp to real use now. It was almost as though, in a perverse sort of way, something _good_ might actually come from her own time as a prisoner here, as though the universe had sent her here for a reason ... to learn to survive ... and to come out with a new sort of power and influence at the other end. She may have lived in the big house on the perimeter, but she'd had just as few freedoms as the poor souls trapped within these dank walls, faced just as bleak a future ... and was just as much under the heel of the _Commandant_ as any of they could claim to be.

But _now_ she had a chance to wreak her first act of vengeance on him ... for _all_ of those whose life he had made a misery. And Hermione hoped it would be the first of many such little victories for her.

Though she couldn't sense Ron's presence yet. He wasn't here ... somehow Hermione could tell that. She felt emboldened by the sensation, as she realised that her perceptive abilities had come with her from The Blue Palace. It wasn't just a skill she could use _there_ ... it was a talent she carried _inside_ , one that Harry had awoken within her. She felt inordinately close to him just then, as though he were right there at her side, guiding her through this maze of shadowy corridors with his blinding, ever-supportive light showing her the way.

Though in truth, the map of the place was so ingrained into her memory that Hermione felt she would have known her way around in the dark.

She darted along at a brisk pace, never missing a turn. She hurried past the interrogation suites, ignored the groans for help from the prisoners held in windowless cells, and descended down metal spiral staircases into the very bowels of the building. She just _knew_ that this was the right way to go. She hid in alcoves when she had to, breathless until the guards rushed past, slipped through intermittent circles of candlelight and shadow, all the while getting closer to her quarry.

And then, eventually, she turned a corner and knew she had arrived at the right place.

There was only one cell here, right at the far end and it was crammed to bursting point with prisoners. Hermione's senses tightened focus, honed in on the signal she was looking for ... and she found it, weak and fragile, but undoubtedly still _alive_.

 _I'm coming, Luna!_ Hermione thought desperately.

And she sped off, but she hadn't moved more than a few feet when, quite abruptly, a couple of guards Apparated right in front of her, blocking her path. She cursed bitterly to herself ... she'd forgotten about the motion detectors down here. It was a silly mistake to make. She had scant minutes before the place would be crawling with more guards ... so she had to dispatch these two quickly.

They flung curses at her, but Hermione's battle robes absorbed them as if they were nothing. She cast a Blasting Curse in response, cracking both their pelvises in half with one spell. Enola had taught her that one first, as it was a personal favourite of Harry's. It seemed fitting for her to use it now ... as though casting it on his behalf. The guards screeched in agony and Hermione advanced on them. She raised her wand again, ready to finish them ... but faced with the enormity of the act, Hermione hesitated. And in that same moment, one of the guards flicked his wand at her ...

... but a spark of magic from the dark took his life he got to finish the spell. Hermione span around and gasped.

 _"Sally!_ What are you doing here?"

"Look after Lady Hermione at all costs!" said the elf vivaciously, emerging from the shadows. "Master Harry be _very_ specific with Sally! And if it mean going into battle at her Mistress' side, then that what Sally must do!"

Hermione knelt down and hugged her elf. "Then you stick with me!"

"Yes, my Lady! ... Lady Hermione, where are we's?" Sally whispered.

"There are people trapped down here," said Hermione, moving along the corridor again. "One of them is an old friend of ours that we need to rescue. Once we find her, we have to get her to safety. But I'm not sure if there's an easy way out ..."

"No ... there isn't ..."

A hated voice from a hidden spot near the cell door ... a flash of green ... and Hermione felt Sally's magic push her clear and out of the way. The spell missed Hermione by an inch ... but hit her elf instead, connecting at a high point near her shoulder and ripping her arm violently from her body. Sally screeched in pitiful agony, before slumping against the wall and whimpering softly.

" _Sally_!"

Hermione raced over to her. Blood was shooting out from the wound, surrounding the little elf in an astonishing pool of oozing darkness. Hermione was mindless at the sight, shocked by how _much_ blood could be contained in such a fragile, tiny little thing.

Sally blinked up slowly ... the light was dimming fast in her eyes and dark bubbles were popping at the corners of her little mouth.. "La-lady Hum-iron -"

"Don't speak, just be still," Hermione whispered, casting the swiftest, strongest healing spells she knew onto the open wound. She had no idea if they had worked ... after all, she'd never tried to fix the damage from a such a vicious Curse before.

"Sa ... Sally done good? Sally s-save Master Harry's favrit ... est ... wuh ..."

And her words tailed off in a raspy breath. Hermione heard hideous laughter from the end of the corridor and she stood ... riled, roused, pumping with the most furious emotion she had ever felt in her entire life. She marched towards the laughter, ferocious anger burning in her veins, tears boiling in her eyes and breaking on her cheeks like lava. She glowered at the source of the evil spell ... and the forked tongue that had cast it.

"You're a long way from home, Granger. Or, funnily enough, really _close_ to it. I always said I'd get you down here, didn't I?"

" _Malfoy_ ," Hermione hissed with every bit of acidic bile she could muster. "You should be careful what you wish for, you know, because I have no intention of dying by your hand today. Or _any day_ , actually. Imagine the _shame!_ How could I look Harry in the face, knowing I had been bested by a man who couldn't lay a _single_ spell on him, when he had _eight_ cronies to help him out!? The shame, I tell you."

"Ah, yes, where is Potter?" Malfoy sneered, stalking forwards into a pool of dull amber light, cast by a dirty candle hanging from the low ceiling. His shoulders rolled menacingly as his komodo dragon-infused body edged closer, his wand gleaming in his fist. Hermione steeled herself against his approach, gripping her own wand tightly ... ready to strike.

"Oh, I told Harry not to bother himself with this fight," Hermione taunted. "Told him to save his strength for wizards who might actually pose a threat ..."

Malfoy bristled, then flicked a surprise spell at Hermione, sending a jet of purple light rocketing in her direction. She dodged it and fired a Blasting Hex in reply. Malfoy side-stepped it somewhat lazily, but it still smashed a hole in the wall above his shoulder. He shook off the brick dust where it fell onto his robe.

"I see you've developed some claws, Mudblood," Malfoy drawled, spinning his wand. "So much the better. This might actually be _fun_."

And then it began. Malfoy rattled off four or five curses in quick succession, but Hermione easily deflected or dodged them. Enola's duelling advice was ringing in her ears ... _you'll win if you_ _don't get hit_. She would be in the fight as long she wasn't struck. But Malfoy's spells were powerful ... some thundered into Hermione's Shield Charms and almost broke through. One even clipped the hem of her battle dress, but the runes absorbed the magical energy, recycled it through the enchantments and sent it flowing back through the fabric, fortifying the protections.

And despite the power of Malfoy's early spells, Hermione quickly realised that she could hold him off. Malfoy's magic was strong ... but hers was _stronger_. Not only that, but she was more physically nimble, lithe ... she danced and span away from a series of lightening blasts, which crashed into the walls, but did her no damage at all.

Then one took her by surprise, hitting her right in the gut. She doubled up, winded ... but the spell had done only superficial damage. The battledress had done its job again. And Hermione realised something _else_ as she assessed her injury, flexing her tummy as she allowed herself to feel the dull ache of the spell impact and quickly master it.

Malfoy was _weakening._

These spells were costing him _huge_ amounts of energy. Like a heavyweight boxer throwing all his best punches early on, Malfoy was fast running out of steam. Attack after attack was being repelled, but apart from the prospect of a bit of a bruised belly, Hermione was still full of energy and zeal. She felt deft and springy, whereas Malfoy was breathing heavily as he lumbered through the gloom towards her.

"Is that all you have?" Hermione taunted with a mirthless laugh, ducking clear of another wayward curse. "Merlin! If I'd known you were _this_ much of a pussy, Draco, I'd have smacked you around years ago!"

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Mudblood ... getting _smacked about_?" Malfoy sneered, firing off another angry bolt that Hermione had to conjure a golden shield to deflect. It connected with a clanging _gong_ , as both shield and bolt vanished before them.

"Yeah, but at least Ron managed to _hurt_ me," Hermione spat back, viciously . "You haven't even made a _dent!_ Fancy a Malfoy being out-bullied by a _Weasley?_ Your family might disown you for that."

Malfoy roared and cast a gout of fire from his wand. Hermione Apparated clear, quick as a flash ... reappearing right next to Malfoy. He had crumbled to one knee with the effort of the last spell, and he looked up in shock at Hermione's sudden appearance next to him.

"Here, let me show you what I learned from Ron."

And with that, Hermione balled up her fist and drove it fiercely into Malfoy's face, magic be damned. He fell back and hit the floor with a thud. Hermione advanced on him, then stamped brutally on his head ... three, four, five times. Malfoy whimpered in pain and stretched out vainly for his lost wand ... but Hermione kicked out hard at his wrist. She heard it break with a satisfying _crack_. Malfoy rolled over and cradled his injured arm ... and Hermione loomed over him a moment ... before stomping repeatedly on the shattered limb as hard as she could.

Anger was her master now ... she saw only red ... had eyes only for destruction. She looked over at Sally, her arm severed and bleeding out next to that astonishing lake of blood. She had to get back to her ... just in case. And as much as she would have liked to tortured Malfoy a little longer, Hermione had this duel won. The clock was against her ... and Enola's words rang in her mind again.

_"Like Harry says - don't toy with your prey. When the fight is done ... finish it quickly."_

Hermione looked down with pitiless eyes, then rolled Malfoy and his broken body flat with her boot. She felt _nothing_ as she stared down at his blood-mangled face ... not a shred of regret over the violent assault she had visited upon him.

Then she raised her wand again ... prepared to take life for the first time ... then suddenly she was struck with a _better_ idea.

"First a lesson in brutality from Ron," Hermione taunted. "Now for something more _artistic_ that _Harry_ taught me ... I think you'll like it."

She cast the _Immobulus_ Charm. Malfoy was held fast, and Hermione braced his throat with her knee a moment to place the tip of her wand right between his eyes ... then slowly, painfully, she began to _slice_.

Malfoy hissed and spat at her, but he could make no impression of any kind, stuck motionless as he was by the potency of Hermione's magic. Thirty seconds of agony later, and Hermione stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"There! A nice, deep, lightening-shaped cut ... just like Harry has!" Hermione spat. "And, just so your Boss knows who gave it to you, just so he knows who you failed to beat ... _again_ ... I've signed our initials over your eyes ... well, they aren't my initials _yet_... but they will be. True, my _P_ is a little wonky, but I think Tom'll get the gist.

"Ron never told me, but how many times is a Death Eater allowed to fail Voldemort, before you cease to be useful to him, Draco? You should have been spliced with a _pussy-cat_ , not a dragon, you know ... at least then you'd have gotten _nine_ chances to fuck up before he ran out of patience with you for good."

"Too scared to finish me, Mudblood?" Malfoy hissed. "Too much of a coward for that, are you? Too scared to _kill?_ "

"On the contrary, I've done far more than just _kill_ you, Draco ... far more than beat you ... I've _hurt_ you," Hermione whispered dangerously. "And I wish to go on _hurting_ you. You'll make good practice for when I finally get my wand on Ron ... and you'll have to live with the knowledge that you're only my _warm-up for a Weasley_. Well, so long as Voldemort doesn't end your worthless life for me."

"Sally!"

There was a rush of air, the hearty moan of a mother seeing her child viciously wounded, and Hermione span around to look at them both. Rhian had appeared and flopped down at Sally's motionless side. Hermione flicked a lazy Knock-out Hex at Malfoy, whose head bounced as it hit the stone floor, then Hermione rushed back to Sally and clutched at her body ... and felt a weak _pulse_ refusing to give up. But the elf was so _cold._ Ragged breaths left her tiny lungs and Hermione knew that time was short. She Summoned the severed arm to her, hoping they might find a way to reattach it later.

But the older elf was senseless before her grief.

"She dead! She dead! Mys beautiful Sally bes killed!"

"Rhian! Calm yourself!" said Hermione, firmly. "She's _not_ dead ... there's still time to save her!"

"She ... _not_ dead?" Rhian cried, hopefully.

"No, but she's badly hurt," said Hermione. "You need to get her back to the palace right away. Do it quickly."

"But why she even _here_?" Rhian whimpered. "She just a _baby_ elf. No place for a baby in fighting!"

"She came to look after _me_ ," Hermione squeaked, guiltily. "She took a curse for me ... she was so _brave_. But she needs your help now. Get her home ... take her straight to Enola ... she'll know what to do."

"Yes! Yes, Lady Longbottom will fix my Sally! Then I spank her for being so foolish when she wake up!"

Hermione chuckled. "Just get her out of here."

"What about yous?"

"I still have to work to do," said Hermione.

Hermione jumped up, kissed Rhian on the head and darted along the corridor, fishing around in Draco Malfoy's pockets as the two elves disappeared from the scene. She found the key to the cell and jammed it into the lock, before yanking the door open in a frenzy.

"Be quiet everyone!" Hermione screamed over the din that had greeted her entry. "I could tell you that you're all safe, but that would be a lie. I come with help, but we still have to fight our way out. Anyone not up for that might as well stay behind."

"The chance to fight is all we've asked for!" cried a random voice with considerable, angry passion.

Hermione smirked. "Good, then follow me. If you find any weapons on the way, pick them up. This will not be pretty. Where is Luna? Luna Lovegood ... I know you're in here somewhere."

A thin, ragged woman was pushed forwards from the back of the room ... and Hermione gasped in horror at the sight of her old friend. She had sunken eyes, bruises _everywhere_ , her bones were visible through her wispy, naked skin ... and they'd shaved off all her hair. In fact ... they'd shaved off _everyone's_ hair. For some reason, that image struck Hermione harder than any of it.

"You stay with me, okay?" Hermione whispered to Luna, taking off her battledress and throwing it over Luna's fragile shoulders. She didn't have the energy to respond ... Hermione wasn't even sure Luna knew who she _was._

And then they were moving like a great wave. Someone swiped Draco Malfoy's wand from the floor, two others picked up the ones left by the Death Eater guards that Sally had taken care of earlier, and they hurried back through the maze of corridors towards the surface. They met _no-one_ on the way, and everything was eerily silent ... too silent for Hermione's liking. They made their way, unchallenged, right back to the hole Neville had made earlier, and back out into the warm sunshine ...

Then Hermione halted and lost her breath ... for what looked like Voldemort's _entire army_ was ranged against them in the vast prison courtyard.

It was a horribly breathtaking sight ... one that Hermione couldn't manage to blink clear from her vision. She glanced around for her support fighters ... Patrick O'Brien and Sir David Pincott were resting against the prison block wall, literally _burned out_ from their fiery exertions ... Owain and Neville were casting healing runes into each other, while Frank and Myfanwy tended to an unconscious Angharad, who had a nasty burn across her face and chest, her own battledress torn open and smouldering from vicious spell damage.

And Hermione was hit with a shock of fear ... they had _lost ..._ there was nowhere left to run.

They couldn't possibly get out of this. They were hemmed in with nowhere to go. And there were _hundreds_ of wizards and witches ... maybe a thousand ... marching down on them, firing dummy spells and roaring with a deafening blood-lust fury. The din was horrifying. It was the end ... somehow, Hermione _knew_ it ... knew it as certainly as she could tell night from day.

She didn't think death would look like this, or that it would feel so callous. Even in the worst of her times with Ron, she'd never honestly pictured the moment of her final demise. If she had, she was reasonably sure she wouldn't have felt as bitter about it as she did now. The last time she was in this camp, she might have welcomed death ... but now she railed _against_ it, screamed internally for a way to keep her rampant heart beating for just another sunrise. It pumped harder as a response, rushing loud in her ears, as if trying to show it still had more to give, now her life had finally started going again.

Hermione was so unbelievably angry at the situation, at the universe, at _herself ..._ that she actually laughed in her fury. She thought of all the things that she wouldn't get to do ... all the wrongs that she'd failed to right in her life. She'd only just begun to get her revenge on Malfoy for a life of tormenting, but she wouldn't get to face Ron. It was a bitter pill to concede victory to _him_.

And that, invariably, led Hermione to think of Harry.

She'd _never_ see him again! Hermione screeched like a banshee at the heart-breaking thought, and hot tears stung her cheeks. She thought of all the time she'd lost with him ... all the kisses and love they could have shared ... if only they'd just opened up to each fully after that flight on Buckbeak.

For that was when it had truly come alive _for her_. She could have told Harry how she felt about him _then_ ... or at any of the other million moments that came later. But there was always a _later_ ... another time, another vague point in the future, when Hermione would finally find the courage to lay her heart open before her first and truest love ... there was always a _tomorrow_. Only _now_ ... even that concept was about to be cruelly snatched away from her.

And what a beautiful tomorrow it had promised to be!

But Hermione found that she was still mindlessly miserable at the _past_... wild with the despair that she'd never known when it all _really_ started for Harry _..._ when he'd first felt that spark of passion ignite for _her_. Her heart ached with the knowledge that he'd never be able to tell her that story, as they cuddled up in bed together, while reading other stories to their firstborn baby ...

And that was _another_ thing she'd never get to do ... be the mother to Harry's children, or enjoy the making of them with him. It was so fucking annoying! How _dare_ the universe do this to her?! After all it had put her through already! She looked out across the courtyard, at the amassed faces there ... and wondered which one of the bastards would cast the spell that would take all these wonderful things away from her. She decided she would come back ... haunt them fuck out of them as the worst poltergeist ever ... drive them insane. It wasn't much as revenges went, but it was all she had.

But who would it be?"

Then she saw a hated face, locked gazes with a cold, lifeless set of eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. And black hair ... long, ruler-straight, framing the skin of a face so pale that it was as if the entire spectrum of colour had been pulled from her very world. She glowered at Hermione with dark sarcasm, as if she'd been waiting for an age to be noticed by her, as she stalked ever closer. And, as that spark of recognition bloomed between them, she pointed directly at Hermione with a malicious grin ... her meaning undoubtedly clear ...

 _Ginny_ ... Hermione was being chosen for murder by Ginevra _fucking_ Weasley ... and the madness of the understanding drove her over the edge.

"Not in this life, you rancid little _slut_!"

Hermione wasn't done yet, there was still some fight left. Pulling her battledress back from Luna, she darted forwards, wand held aloft, and sent an angry curse arrowing across the courtyard ... but it merely collided with an intensely powerful defence ward, created by the magical fusion of all the combined Death Eaters, who were only fifty feet away now. Heads turned to look at Hermione in the ensuing moment of silence ... before they all laughed tauntingly at her. Then they began to sprint forwards, raising their wands, choosing their first curses. Hermione sighed and took a deep, rattling breath as she watched them race ever closer.

This was it ... this was the moment ... the point when everything would stop.

Hermione looked up to the sky and blinked away her last tears. "I love you, Harry ... and I'm sorry for everything. I love you."

And the sky _erupted_ in response ...

* * *

The Death Eaters had suddenly stopped running ... and everything had fallen silent.

They skidded to a halt, where they were held frozen by the utter _decimation_ of the atmosphere all around them. It forced them backwards, despite any resistance they tried to throw up against it. The air had turned thick, almost _gelatinous_... the Death Eaters seemed unable to advance through it.

And it was _angry_ . Cold, unbridled fury rang and sparkled on the whipping breeze, pinging out in mini flashes of lightening that jumped out from the swirling gusts at random moments. Thunder crackled powerfully above them, booming out in palpable waves from heavy, dark clouds that had surged overhead. The drumming thunder was forceful enough to knock entire _rows_ of the Death Eaters from their feet ... and the rest looked frantically around, panicked and unsure about what was happening.

And Hermione and her injured comrades could only watch on from afar ... and wonder why they were seemingly immune to this unexpected tantrum from Mother Nature herself.

Then there was a blinding flash of Apparition, then another, and another. Then _another_ ... there were dozens, _scores_ of them. Hermione blinked and tried to keep count of each one, but it was a futile effort. There were just so _many!_ They yielded witches and wizards battle-robed in the black and gold colours of The Knights of St David, each one wielding a wand and fresh, aggressive magic. The air was so _dense_ with potential energy that it felt like being in the war path of an onrushing, angry hurricane. And suddenly there were as many wizards on one side of the Death Eaters' shield wall as there were behind it. Hermione's heart surged with such burning _hope_ that she felt as though she'd drunk an entire _vat_ of phoenix tears in one go. The armies faced off for a pregnant moment, then one of the newcomers lowered his hood and marched forward purposefully ... and Hermione dropped her wand in surprise.

For it was the _meek_ Prince Pwyll of Dyfed, and he looked _furious ..._ like a Pagan Prince of old. And there was another Prince was next to him, and two more lined up close by to _him_. And _hundreds_ of their subjects marched forwards with them in formation, as though they were a standing army on exercise, driving the Death Eaters further back still. All the Princes were wielding shining silver sceptres and the combined power streaming from them made Hermione's skin tickle as it passed over her. It was _they_ who were controlling the sky ... for at that moment, Pwyll raised his sceptre and the storm clouds dissipated like a harmless Spring Mist. Hermione just stared as she watched them go ... in fact, _everyone_ did. It had all gone very quiet, like the world was holding a baited breath ... excited to see what would happen next.

Then, the Princes of Wales stopped and slammed their sceptres hard into the soil, sending a crackle of energy along the ground as though drawing a _literal_ battle line.

It was the signal for a final flash of Apparition ... right there at the centre of the stand off.

And Hermione's heart swooped with fierce, unmitigated joy as she saw who it yielded.

" _HARRY_!"

They were saved!

Hermione knew it as surely as she'd known anything in her entire life! Harry was standing, legs astride, battle-posed. Excalibur shimmered and pulsed in his hand. The power radiating from Harry swept off him like an electric storm front. Someone fired a spell ... but Harry simply let it hit him. He didn't move ... the spell might as well have been a grain of sand for all the impact it had on him. He pulled Excalibur back, then slashed the mighty sword through the air in front of him ...

And opened up a gaping chasm in the earth between the two armies, easily thirty feet deep.

Some of the Death Eaters on the edge fell into the ravine as it opened up beneath their feet. Harry raised his sword again, the Princes took up flanking positions and raised their sceptres. And together they cast a Shield Wall of their own, one so dense they were able to push it forwards and knock the Death Eaters back away from the injured Inner Circle.

The counter-spells fired by the Death Eaters were useless. They didn't even make the barest of impressions. And _still_ Harry advanced, his Acolytes moving with him, right to the sheer wall of the crack Harry had made in the ground. Hermione recovered her wand and raced to his side, pushing her own magic into the barrier they had created. Harry turned to her.

"Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly, his gorgeous eye scanning every inch of her.

His concern was immense and Hermione was broken by the understanding ... Harry had done all this _for her!_ He had taken control of _nature_ itself ... just to make sure _she_ was kept safe! If a human being could have melted from love, it would have happened to Hermione Granger right then.

"I'm fine," Hermione beamed, finally remembering that she needed to breathe to stay alive. Then she became playful. "You're _late!_ Neville might need a butterfly stitch on his lip, you know! Maybe a plaster on his scuffed knee!"

Harry belly laughed at that ... the most beautiful sound Hermione knew. "Look, we aren't here to fight today. I just want to show old Tom what _I_ can bring to this party. _This_ is my birthright, Hermione. Not the Sword ... but all that it stands for. We came for Luna, but I see you have her ... now this becomes _personal._

"That building, on the left ... that's your old house, isn't it? Cassie gave you a gift, I believe. Finish this, my Queen."

Hermione grinned and sprinted over to the manor house. She reached deep into the pockets of her trusty battledress ... then hurled the little ball-bearings at the front door she had always hated calling her own ...

And the _entire house_ exploded right in front of her.

Shards of jagged brick and stone were flung high into the air, all falling on the Death Eater's side of the Shield Wall, making them scatter and flee in panic. Hermione watched them break rank to avoid the debris, and felt their Shield Wall collapse along with the dissolution of their discipline. Then the previously imprisoned witches and wizards came streaming up behind her, angrily hurling broken pieces of the house at their former captors, for they had no wands to take up against them.

"Hermione! Over here!"

Neville was calling to her. He was cradling the haunted form of Luna, who he had covered in his own battlerobe, in his protective embrace. Hermione had never seen him looking so relieved, and she suddenly remembered his dire warning from earlier ... he would have _killed_ Luna if he'd had to, but holding her alive, safe in his arms, was like winning every lottery ever hosted ... on the same day!

"What's this?" asked Hermione, moving to a vortex of light that Neville had conjured.

"Communal Apparition portal," Neville explained, as Frank and Myfanwy carried Angharad through it. "Emergency escape route. Come on, get Luna out of here. We'll handle the rest now. You did _brilliantly_ , by the way ... my _Q_ _ueen._ "

"I'm not leaving Harry," said Hermione fiercely, blushing as Neville bowed to her.

"Harry will be right behind you ... as always."

And he was. Turning her bodily to him, before kissing her so passionately that Hermione forgot what day it was.

"Take Luna back to the palace ... there's someone there waiting to see her."

"Who?" asked Hermione.

"The girl we rescued from Glastonbury," Harry explained. "Her name is Celesca ... and she's Luna's _daughter_."

Hermione took one, wide-eyed look at Harry, kissed him deeply, told him not to be long ... then pulled Luna through the vortex to safety.


	22. The Mistress of the Manor

****** **

****Disclaimers:**** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The Blue Palace, the ancestral home of the Potter family, was situated in a valley of some local importance, at the heart of a vast parkland containing of great variety of ground. The outer areas had been turned over to the employment of farms and agriculture, while closer in Harry had planted sweeping fields of barley, a dense orchard, and a vineyard so large that the rows of hanging grapes and hop plants disappeared over the rise of a low hillock in the near distance.

For brewing was Harry’s most favourite hobby and, if he and Neville could have gotten away with it, they’d have spent most of their free time concocting new wines and beers and ciders, or else getting merrily drunk on the fruits of their labour.

The Manor House itself was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a range of rolling hills crowned by outcrops of stone or tufts of wild woodland. The palace had seven levels, of which Harry's personal rooms took up all of the very top one, and at least two more below ground that Hermione knew of. Her bedroom suite was on the fourth of these floors, just along the corridor from where Neville and Enola lived, in the roundtower of the North-east corner.

There were, of course, only two other roundtowers left, since Harry had destroyed the North Western one during his infamous tantrum. The maintainence elves had simply left the ruin there, as a memorial to Harry’s power, claiming that it gave the building ‘character’.

The Southernmost and ‘front’ face of the house was accessed by way of a narrow causeway, which connected to a road of stone that snaked, with some abruptness, around a stream, that had been swelled into a greater body of water to form a small lake in front of the house. Its banks were well kept and not at all falsely adorned, and always gave Hermione the impression that this was a place for which nature could not have done more, and one which was lucky to have not been spoiled by a tasteless human hand.

Among the grounds and gardens nearest to the house were many delightful walking paths, that curved into the pretty groves and woodlands which flanked the stream. Now that she was fit and able, Hermione delighted in indulging her passion for nature by rambling along these paths for hours on end, hoping one day to make an entire circle of the park. But these hopes were dashed, however, by the stark words of the Head Gardener-Elf, who was named Gwillym, who informed her that the perimeter of the boundary ward was at least twelve miles around and far too much to manage on foot in a single day.

So Hermione decided that she’d have to get Harry to buy her a little open-topped carriage and a couple of cute ponies to make the circuit. He would definitely oblige her, because he loved nothing more than doing things to make her happy, which was a power that Hermione knew she’d have to develop a _serious_ resistance against selfishly exploiting too often.

But she would indulge herself this once. Besides, it was her birthday coming up soon … and that would make a perfectly lovely gift.

But till then she’d have to content herself with merely those parts of the park that she could reach on foot, and there were still plenty of those to be had. And it was a good thing, too, for Hermione needed _something_ to occupy her time.

After all, since the attack on the Hengest Camp, Hermione, still bearing the hated surname of her marriage into bondage, had been formally declared as an _Enemy of the Magical State …_ and as such once again found herself a prisoner in her own home.

But _this_ time, the idea of her _own home_ thrilled her wildly, so being hemmed in here was a positive delight. Hermione would go off on these rambling walks in utter contentment, missing only Harry’s company to make everything perfect and complete. She would get lost in the woods and pastures, marvelling at the fact that she could walk all day and still not leave lands owned by Harry, so she was eminently safe.

And _then_ she would muse excitedly on the possibility that, one day, she might be able to claim all of this as her own … if she ever became Mistress of this place by marrying Harry. That was something to devote hours of pleasurable thought to, and in ways far beyond the material and pecuniary benefits that would arise from Hermione ever becoming _Mrs Potter_.

Indeed, the very idea was likely to make Hermione’s head spin as though she were a lovesick teenager again … and she was thankful for the vastness of the park then, as out here, no-one could hear her squeal!

For _his_ part, Harry dedicated much ofhis time to investigating the plans being made by the Death Eaters to _recover_ Hermione, after he learned that her capture had been made such a high priority that a huge reward had been placed on her head. She had joined him on a High Value _Wanted List_ , one that promised to tempt half the country to go out in search of her.

And so, Harry had issued his first insistent order to Hermione … which was to keep her very _pretty_ head safe and sound behind the boundary of the palace wards for now.

“Twenty thousand Galleons!” Enola had exclaimed when Hermione told her of the new bounty. “Wow. Your value is going up all the time, isn’t it?!”

Hermione laughed at that. “I’ll have it up to _fifty thousand_ by Christmas, if I get the chance.”

They were taking the walk which led around Harry’s Secret Copse, over the quaint footbridge which spanned the narrowest part of the rushing stream there, and towards the slim waterfall just beyond the orchard, whose splashing water could be heard as far away as the stables on the other side of the house. Enola was pushing Alison in her pram as they talked, and what curious talk it was.

For on Harry’s last visit back he had brought them some interesting news … about the fate which had befallen _Ron_ in the aftermath of his latest humiliation. And it was dominating their thoughts on this particular stroll.

“ _He_ cant have put up that sort of reward, can he?” Enola was asking. “I know he pilfered a lot of wealth, but that seems quite a jump from a jar of air!”

“I agree,” Hermione tittered. “Harry seems to think that Lucius Malfoy is behind it. That’s where he’s gone at the moment, to a meeting with Narcissa. If anyone will know, it’s her.”

“Revenge money, for you handing Draco’s arse to him on a silver platter!” Enola hooted. “That makes sense. How are you feeling … about Harry being out there in the world? Worried?”

“I think _petrified_ comes closer,” Hermione quailed. “But, as Sally likes to say, ‘ _Master Harry always come back to his favouritest witch’ …_ that’s _me_ , by the way!”

“I _know_ , Min!” Enola replied, rolling her eyes in her amusement.

“I'm just saying ... just in case you’d forgotten!” Hermione teased.

Hermione and Enola, who were a fair way to becoming best friends as it was, had become virtually inseparable since the events of Hengest. Enola was eternally grateful to Hermione, for her part in rescuing Neville, and deeply impressed by Neville’s account of Hermione’s role in everything that happened there. Hermione saw it only as fulfilling a debt she’d never said a proper thank you for, which was Enola taking the burden of her physical injuries from Ron.

And so, the two most powerful witches of the Blue Palace had come to an agreement … that they were _both_ pretty awesome and deserved to become the best of friends with each other that they could.

“How is Sally, anyway?” Enola went on.

“She’s getting there,” Hermione nodded encouragingly. “Doing things with one-arm is taking a while to get used to, but she’s doing well. She still insists on trying to help me dress, though, which ends up taking three times longer than it should! But I cant deny her … not after she saved my life.”

“No, that was very brave of her,” Enola agreed. “I was surprised, you know, by _Harry’s_ take on all that.”

“How so?”

“I thought he’d be mad, _incensed_ even,” Enola confessed. “But to find him _thrilled_ with it was very unexpected.”

“He was _thrilled_?” Hermione asked with a shy blush. “He hasn’t told me that.”

“I’m not surprised,” Enola replied. “I don’t think he wants you to see it as an endorsement, just in case you get any ideas to go off and do it again. He still doesn’t think you’re ready, and neither do I.”

“But you’re still telling me?” Hermione quirked. “You really are _rubbish_ at keeping secrets! But, go on, tell me what he said about me. I’m dying to know!”

Enola grinned, happy to cater to Hermione’s vanity. “Well, you _devastated_ Malfoy in your duel with him, didn’t you? And that’s no mean feat, Hermione. Draco, and wizards like Zabini, are poster children for Tom Riddle’s primary aim … to build a generation of witches and wizards in his own image. He thinks that splitting souls makes them death- proof, is firm in the belief that being spliced with animals increases their power.

“Malfoy and Zabini are Section Seven _elite_ … and are part of all the cutting edge _SS_ experiments to increase magical power through unnatural invocation. But Harry walloped them both without even batting an eyelid … and now, so have _you_. And Harry just _loves_ that. He was practically dancing when he and I were talking about it. It’s humiliating for Riddle and his buddies, making a mockery of all that they are preaching about Pureblood superiority, to have a half-blood and a Muggleborn wiping the floor with their elite wizards.”

“That’s why they are so keen to play everything down!” Hermione mused, excitedly. “They don’t want to allow seeds of doubt to germinate in the population, to provide a focal point for open rebellion in the form of Harry.”

“Exactly,” Enola agreed. “Which is why they are unlikely to engage us in open conflict any time soon. That, of course, and the fact that they’ve seen the army now that Harry has at his command. They wont likely want to face _that_ again so unprepared.”

Hermione nodded as she understood. “But this thing with Ron is curious though … why have they _arrested him_ , do you think?”

Enola’s pretty expression darkened. “Oh, I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Ronald Weasley. I think, and Harry agrees, that they’ve taken Ron into custody not only as a punishment … but to _protect him_ … from _you_.”

“Me?” Hermione blurted out, astonished.

“Yep,” Enola returned. “Ron may be a useless piece of human flotsam, but he has one key role … this mysterious curse on you that we still cant define. And, as long as your Marriage Bond is intact, he’ll have an important use to the Dark Side because of it. So Tom Riddle has to protect him personally, probably by keeping him _very_ close.”

“So _that’s_ where Harry has been going … to try and find out where Riddle has taken him!” Hermione cried. "To keep him safe!"

Enola nodded. “That’s been his and Nev’s main objective. When Ron was at Hengest, they knew where to look to track the magical link he has to you, in case we found a way to exploit or break it. We could target our magic at that location if we ever did. But now, we haven’t got a clue where he is.”

“So this is my fault,” Hermione frowned. “I blew up my old house and destroyed a key piece of intelligence on Ron! No wonder Harry doesn’t think I’m ready to join the fight properly just yet. That was an amateurish mistake!”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Enola laughed. “Once we’d found out that Luna was there, this was always likely to happen. You carrying it out is just window dressing to the main display.”

It wasn’t an explanation that Hermione liked, so she just huffed and felt rather cross with herself. “So, what do we do now? I cant bear to be idle while Harry and Neville are out there putting their lives at risk for us.”

“Our tasks are here right now,” Enola replied. “Harry has asked me to personally oversee Luna’s care until he comes back, and that of her little girl, who still looks like someone who has been Kissed by a Dementor.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Not with that,” Enola told her. “But we do have over fifty new residents on the estate, the ones that you liberated from Hengest along with Luna. If you want to be useful, you could help with settling them in.”

So she did, throwing herself into the task with zeal.

On the Eastern side of the grounds, where the dense woodlands thinned to make room for a flat grove of wild grasslands, a settlement had been erected to house all of the refugees that Harry and Neville managed to rescue from the world. And it was here that Hermione dedicated much of her time and efforts, setting herself up as a friendly welcoming party, greeting every new wretch delivered to the safety offered by the wards of The Blue Palace.

Wooden chalets, comfortable enough to house a family of four, lined the perimeter of a paddock, where unicorns gambolled about in the company of a herd of hippogriffs. For it wasn’t just magical _people_ that fell under the care of Harry Potter and his boundless mercy. Hermione was most often to be found here, bringing clothes and food, and furnishings for the homes of the new arrivals, or else helping the maintenance elves in the building of more.

At the start, both the elves and the more established human residents were wary of Hermione. After all, they had heard the rumour that she was the witch who could one day be the Mistress of the Manor, and as such they weren’t sure what to make of her or how they should act in her presence. Soon enough, however, they saw that she was quite as lovely and caring as Harry ever was, and looked forward to her visits and welcomed her help, lamenting her loss as soon as it became time for her to return to the house each evening.

There was even talk of a petition to try and _make_ Hermione Mistress of the Manor, though the idea was quickly abandoned as a bad job, as none of the residents had the courage to try and tell Harry Potter how to live his life or choose his bride.

Soon, the chalets arced around from the paddock and a sort of village square sprung up, quite naturally, as the population slowly grew. Now there was a carpenter’s workshop, a tannery, and the brewhouse where Harry spent much of his down time, as well as a larger hut that served as a sort of makeshift inn, where the residents could congregate and toast their good fortune in escaping the dark machinations of the world outside.

* * *

Of all of the new residents that Hermione was keen to help, one took her attention more than any of the others.

Luna Lovegood had arrived at the Blue Palace in a hell of a state. Malnourished, beaten and bearing all the hallmarks of her hideous treatment at the hands of her brutal, fascist captors, Harry had taken a very hands-on approach to trying to help her. Magical sedation had come first, then he employed a complex array of healing crystals designed to target different areas of psychological damage, before finally moving on to her physical wounds.

This was where Hermione found Harry when he returned from his latest jaunt into danger, having been alerted to his arrival by the way that the protective wall of enchantments surrounding the estate altered as he passed through them, shaking Hermione’s own energies in just the right way to know it was him. This thrilled her every time it happened, beyond ways that she knew how to describe, and she was liable to drop whatever she was doing and Apparate back to the house to try and find him whenever it did.

And then, she would proceed to kiss Harry senseless, until they both needed to draw deliciously shivery breaths.

Today, Harry’s first port of call after returning home was the infirmary. Hermione was soon with him, and ten minutes later they were just about finished, and ready to get on with something that didn’t involve their lips being locked together.

“How is she?” Harry asked as they stood over Luna’s bed. “Any better?”

“Ennie thinks she’s responding well, but Lu always was a fighter,” Hermione replied, straightening the blanket Luna had over her chest. “She refused three marriage offers after being quite relentlessly pursued, you know. She couldn’t have held out forever, but she wouldn’t even entertain a courtship. I always was wildly envious of that.”

Harry chuckled fondly. “And the girl?”

“Still nothing,” Hermione sighed. “Didn’t you say she’d come out of it if you brought her mother home?”

“I did, but I have a feeling that they are together … in Luna’s mind, or _hers_ ,” Harry replied. “She might be trying to help her deal with what happened. In that case, we shouldn’t force anything on either side.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “So, what took you so long? You’ve been gone for the best part of a _week_ ... which was _not_ what I agreed to, by the way. I'm quite cross with you for that. Nev said you went out of the country even!”

“Yeah, I thought I’d better … see what the international angle is on Elizabeth’s death,” Harry confessed.

“And?”

“ _And_ , we are lucky to have co-operation with the Muggle United Nations,” Harry went on. “They have links with a secret group called the Bilderbergs, who basically control, or have huge influence over, every news media outlet of any repute in the world. They have spun a PR story that the whole thing was a publicity stunt for a new computer game, then imposed strict regulation and censorship on anything coming out of Britain.”

“Is that going to work?” Hermione asked, incredulously.

“For now, but who could say for how long. The truth will be confined to the circles of rumour and conspiracy theory ... and then discredited in the way those sources of knowledge traditionally are, by making their proponents sound like mental patients and deviants. It’s not ideal, but it will buy us a little bit of time.”

Hermione looked down at Luna again, as she fidgeted in her sleep.

“What will you do next for her?”

“Nothing, until she is well enough to wake of her own accord,” Harry replied. “We need to understand the state of her mind before we act any further. The Death Eaters could have exposed her to anything, so we need to be cautious.”

“Why did they take her hair, Harry?” Hermione scowled, stroking Luna’s smooth scalp. “She looks so naked without it.”

“Hair is a valuable commodity for the Death Eaters,” Harry explained, resentfully. “It has many uses … it can be turned into fabric for weaving, be used in potions and other necromantic magic, hell they could even string violin bows with it if they wanted.”

Hermione looked up, aghast. “Human hair … in a _potion_?”

“Don't look so shocked,” Harry returned, grimly. “Human artefacts make highly potent ingredients for Potions. Most decent magical brewers tend to shy away from using them due to the obvious moral conundrums, but Dark Wizards aren’t known for possessing such scruples.

“But hair is most useful in Tracking Enchantments. Back when I was training with the ZGD, I was shown a technique that was regularly used in field work. You see, everything that leaves the human body retains an energy link to it, for varying periods of time. Hair cuttings and toe nail clippings have been known to continue growing after being separated from the host body, for example.

“The ZGD showed me an enchantment that could be placed on bodily fluids, most often saliva, which would boost the strength of that link. So, if you were in unfamiliar territory, you could leave a trail of spit for yourself, sort of like Hansel and Gretel’s breadcrumbs, and find your route back to safety. If you had time to prepare for a mission, faeces was most often used, as it lasts longer. Luckily, I never had to do that!”

“Lovely!” Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose.

“Quite, but it worked,” Harry chuckled back.

“So, do you think they just took her hair to reuse like that? Which way is most likely?”

“Try not to think so arbitrarily,” Harry advised. “They might have used it for everything. Sold a little to the textile industry, sold a little to the apothecaries on Knockturn Alley … then kept the rest to track her … just in case she escaped.”

Harry’s tone did not go unmissed by Hermione, who gasped as she understood his meaning.

“You … you think they could track her _here_?” she asked, lowly.

Harry adjusted the knot on his shawl. “They’d never find the place even if they could … not with just _one_ signal.”

Hermione blinked in shock. “But we just rescued _fifty prisoners_! What if they were all tracked? Do you think they were?”

“It’s more than likely. You should know how meticulous the Death Eaters are when it comes to recording every scrap of information about their citizens. Did you … when you married Ron … did _you_ have to give a cutting of hair?”

Hermione swore, then puffed out an angry breath, then swore a good deal more. “I was told I _had_ to … as a _Totem of Affection!”_

Harry scoffed at that. “Handy cover, isn’t it? And - let me guess - when you signed with the Muggleborn Registration Commission, did old Dolores Umbridge make you use one of her trusty blood quills?”

Hermione’s horror was deep and abject. “Yes … _she did!_ Meaning …”

“... meaning that they have records of your blood, skin and hair types. You can reasonably assume that Ron pulled samples of your magic from your Marriage Bond, too.”

“But why?”

“Easy … so it could be analysed and a way devised to _suppress_ it,” Harry riled. “The practice is standard across magical Britain these days. That’s why such Enchantments are not only difficult, but _dangerous_ to remove … as they are _bespoke_. I’d not be comfortable taking all but the most basic ones from you while you are still tethered to Ron … because who knows _what_ you might have hidden in you that he could exploit. I don’t want to take the risk until I’m absolutely sure you’d be safe.”

"But you _did_ try!"

"Yes, because I didn't think he'd used magic so advanced as manipulating the Marriage Bond," Harry explained. "It's not a common practice. It's old magic ... and several grades above his skill level. It changed everything I expected to do, but luckily we were able to give it back to you before he noticed and exploited it." 

Hermione slumped into a nearby chair with a bitter huff. “I _hate_ this, Harry! I hate having this link to him inside, knowing that he has access to _me!_ Isn’t there any way _I_ can break it on my own?”

Harry shook his head. “A Marriage Bond, even a standard one like yours, is necessarily strong. That’s sort of the _point_. It’s not a state to be entered into wantonly or unadvisedly, even under normal circumstances. But, forced or not, you _agreed_ to establish the Bond with Ron … and only your dual _compliance_ will be able to break it. I’ve never heard of one spouse snapping the Bond on their own.”

Hermione swore again in her frustration. “But it feels like I have a terminal disease, one that can strike at any moment and finish me off.”

“To tell the truth, Hermione, that analogy might not be a million miles off,” Harry growled, darkly. “It is certainly possible that your Bond might form the basis of these magical attacks that Ron keeps trying to make on your subconscious. But then, this _other_ thing you have must also be flowing along it and, perversely, might be the single reason you are still alive.”

“How so? Enola told me that you think Ron’s been taken somewhere to _protect_ him from me. What did you mean by that?”

Harry took a seat himself. “If we assume that this mystery spell is flowing along your Marriage Bond, then we can safely guess that Ron is a part of it, or was at least fully compliant in the casting of it. So, whatever it does, this Enchantment needs the _Bond_ to stay intact. And, of course, there is always an _alternative_ to divorce when it comes to ending a marriage.”

“Widowing,” Hermione breathed out. “So you think, I’m guessing, that now I’ve shown what I can do after my duel with Malfoy, that I’ve made whoever cast this other curse _wary of me_. Whereas before, they thought that Ron had subdued me so much to make me safe to use for … _whatever_ this is … now they think I’m powerful enough to go after him for revenge and kill him … breaking our Bond _and_ undoing this Enchantment at the same time?”

“Ten points to Team Hermione!” Harry grinned. “So, to protect him, they’ve taken him somewhere safe and secluded. I can’t even find him using _ritual_ anymore, which suggests he’s under ritual protection somewhere else, hidden behind a security field of considerable strength.”

“Such as?”

“Hermione … if Ron isn’t in Tom Riddle’s _eyeline_ right now, I’ll eat my shawl with all my scar pus on it!”

Hermione flicked her eyes up in surprise. “You think Ron is with Riddle?”

“I do. Where else could he be so well concealed? But Tom has numerous hideouts and bunkers around the country. We have next to no chance of finding him right now.”

“But what about him finding _us_?” Hermione queried. “With all the signals of the freed prisoners zeroing in on here, might they find us?”

Hermione was breathing sharp and shallow now, the light brush of fear on her tone. She stared at Harry hoping for a positive reply, but his hunched shoulders betrayed his own concern.

“I must confess ... I didn’t factor this eventuality in,” he replied after a moment. “And, though they’ll never get an _exact_ location for the palace, with all these signatures ending in this area at one time, they _could_ get a general idea of where we are.”

Hermione bit her lip in her anxiety. “Is there anything we can do? Extend the borders of the boundary ward, perhaps?”

“Not without encroaching into the territory of our neighbours. In any case, we’d have to weaken the wards to expand them, and I don’t much fancy doing that.”

“Well there must be _something_!” Hermione yelped. “What about your friends, the Princes? Can they help?”

“They’ve already pledged me their support and their armies,” Harry returned, fairly. “I’m not sure what else I could ask for.”

Hermione frowned a moment … then her eyes lit up with the spark of an idea. “Harry … these Princes? Do they cover _all_ of Wales?”

“From North to South and every square yard in between,” Harry grinned. “Why? What are you thinking?”

“I’m _thinking_ ,” Hermione went on excitedly. “That maybe you should invoke a little of that _royal_ power that you have.”

“In what way?”

“Well, isn’t the eldest son of the British Monarch always first in line to the throne? And doesn’t he _always_ have the same title?”

Harry blinked in surprised understanding. “You want me to become _the_ Prince of Wales … the _proper_ one?”

“Only for the purposes of controlling the borders,” Hermione clarified. “We could create a defensive ring around the entire _country_ in that instance, couldn’t we?”

“ _We_ could,” Harry grinned, shrewdly. “But for that to be possible, _you’d_ need a certain kind of ring, yourself. Luckily …”

Hermione’s breathing began to speed, her thoughts a tumult in her excited mind, as she watched Harry reach into his cloak pocket and pull out a small, scarlet box. He opened it slowly and offered it to her.

“Oh … _Harry_!” Hermione hushed, throatily. “It’s _beautiful_!”

For inside was a shining silver ring, with a prettily cut diamond glinting from the top of the band. Hermione stared at it and tried to keep still her rapidly fluttering heart.

“And it’s all yours … if you want it … if you’ll have _me,_ ” Harry replied in near whisper. “I know it’s only been a couple of months, and I know there’s still so much to get over and resolve, and I know I have no right to believe you’ll say ‘yes’ … so if you don’t want to …”

“Yes! Harry! Yes, yes, a million times _yes!”_

Hermione snatched Harry towards her and tugged his shawl off in one movement, capturing his mouth with her own. She kissed him as deeply as she was able, then pulled slowly away and took the ring from the box, before slipping it onto her finger. She had to use the other hand to tradition, as that hated piece of fool’s gold was still on her left hand, but she still admired how well it sat on her.

“It fits _perfectly_!” she complimented. “How did you know?”

“You’ve been sleeping in my house for ages,” Harry laughed. “It wasn’t exactly hard to slip in one night and take your measurements.”

"And you just happened to be carrying it around with you today?"

"It's a ring of _alchemical Quicksilver_ , Hermione ... it's probably worth more than half of the gold stored at Gringotts. Not the kind of thing you just leave lying around!"

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “Harry … did you _make_ this … _yourself_?”

Harry nodded. “Pretty, isn’t it? I thought I’d better make your _engagement ring_ my best work yet, and I'm quite pleased with how it turned out!”

Hermione laughed and brought Harry’s beautiful, slashed lips back to her own. Then they broke apart breathlessly. “Is this real? Is this really happening? Are we _really_ engaged?”

“The ring is the symbol of that promise,” Harry replied with a beaming, lop-sided grin. “But it cant be sealed by anything greater than our word to each other at the moment … for obvious reasons.”

Harry nodded pointedly at Hermione’s _other_ symbolic ring. She scowled at it in much the same way he was.

“There has to be _something_ I can do about that,” Hermione seethed. “I want to marry _you_ , Harry, as soon as possible … so I have to end my other marriage right now! You _must_ have an idea.”

“I have a sort of plan,” Harry confessed. “If we cant break the Bond, there may be a way to _control the flow_ … to only give Ron as much magic as he needs to be satisfied that he retains dominance over you.”

“And how will you do that?”

“By boosting your immunity to Weasley magic … by boosting the _Granger_ in you.”

“My parents!” Hermione breathed. “How can they help?”

“My theory comes from the work done on creating split personalities,” Harry explained. “Extreme forms of pain or trauma were often used to cause the splits, to create the alternate personalities. Emotional shock or trauma affects our magic, too. It may have been that Ron used the death of your parents to cause a fracture in your magic, one he was able to capture and exploit before it healed. The constant emotional pain you feel over their deaths would have fuelled any possible enchantment, even if it was just a low-level control one.

“So, if I can find them, bring them here and give you _some_ closure, maybe it might weaken that spell. And, the stronger your heart and emotions become, the more we can teach you to control your magic in internal ways. Ron sent spells along your Bond because he had control over it … and _you_.

“I swear on my life, Hermione, that we’re going to take that control _back.”_

Hermione drew Harry close and kissed him again. “Then go and do it. What do you need?”

“Just one thing … _that_ little girl.”

Harry nodded at Luna’s daughter, fast asleep in the bed next to the infirmary window.

“Luna’s daughter? Why do you need her?”

“Because she’s a _Seer_ , Hermione,” Harry reminded her. “Those mass graves had _hundreds_ of victims just thrown in. And, after three years since they were murdered, there’s almost no way I’d find your parent’s remains without that sort of power. I need little Celesca to show me which bones I need to bring back with me.”

“Then we have to do what we can to help her wake up,” Hermione replied, bracingly. “But in the meantime, we need to help _you_ first.”

“Me? What’s wrong with me?”

“Your _scar_ , Harry,” Hermione whispered, gently. “It looks sore and it’s weeping … but I don’t want Enola to perform your Healing anymore. _I_ want to do it from now on. Even if we just start small with basic cleaning … your care is _my_ responsibility, I must have it, Harry.”

“So _bossy_!” Harry hushed back, grinning fondly. “Okay, Hermione, I’ll let you do this. It’s high time we began your formal education into runic casting, anyway, and this as good a way to introduce you to it as any. Come on, let me show you a type of magic that Hogwarts wouldn’t have touched with a twelve foot barge pole.”

“And how are you going to do that, Harry?” asked Hermione, standing with him as he offered his hand. "Where are you taking me?"

Harry smiled at her. “We’re going to the favourite room that you haven’t visited yet. It’s about time I showed you around _your library_.”


	23. A Bootful of Bad Memories

****** **

****Disclaimers:**** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Luna woke after a few more days rest. At first, it seemed as if she was relatively unaffected by her traumatic imprisonment, submitting willingly to be treated and hand-fed and generally appearing bright and chatty. But as soon as Harry tried to touch her with magic, she recoiled sharply from him and screamed in his face until he had no choice but to leave the room.

She then refused to let anyone she didn’t know help her. Enola and Arianwen soon joined Harry in his banishment, and it wasn’t until Hermione helped move Luna to a suite next to hers on the Fourth Floor that she began to settle again. Hermione soon became her primary carer, as she wouldn’t let anyone else get close, so her education in magical Healing had to speed up by a matter of knots.

The net result was Harry and Hermione spending so much time in the library that it led to the lady joking that it was just like being back at Hogwarts again.

The other reason Luna permitted Hermione to care for her came from the endorsement given by her daughter, who had proven good to her word and returned to cogent function as soon as her mother did. Little Celesca Lovegood remembered Hermione’s kindness, shown from the day she arrived, and was keen to continue having just as much love lavished on her now she was awake again.

This was a perfect excuse for Hermione to spend yet _more_ time in her new library, picking stories that she might read to Celesca, before Luna put her to bed every night. Luna kept her daughter very close, hardly letting her leave her sight, so Hermione had to guess what sort of stories she might like. Luckily, she had a _lot_ of books to choose from.

For Harry had been quite right … the library instantly became Hermione’s new favourite room. Rows and rows of dark oak bookcases tottered to the ceiling, groaning under the weight of thousands of tomes. Hermione didn’t like to guess how much it had cost Harry to accrue all of this for her, for she knew undoubtedly that it _was_ for her that he had done it. Books had always been _her_ thing, and Harry would have known how delighted Hermione would be to have so many.

And now she had more than she could possibly count.

The dozens of bookcases were testament to that. Some were oblong and standard, some had shelves that curved around in circular arcs and disappeared into the soft light, which seemed to constantly swirl in the heights of the lofty chamber, and others still could be pulled out from the walls or up from the crimson-carpeted floor. There was a large, handsome fireplace at one end of the room, flanked by cosy reading chairs, and an ornate oak table in the centre of the space, that was placed just right to catch the rays of sunlight where they poured in through vast circular windows with pine crossbeams.

It was just about as ideal as Hermione could imagine. If she had _designed_ it herself she couldn’t have made it any more perfect.

But right now, Luna’s suite was accumulating a fair pile of books of its own. It was large enough to have separate bedrooms for her and her daughter, and the one belonging to the latter was now awash with storybooks about princesses and monsters. For it turned out that _monsters_ were little Celesca’s most favourite thing in the world.

“She’s always been the same,” Luna told Hermione one day, as they fondly watched the little girl playing with some toy dragons and basilisks and unicorns that Harry had found her from somewhere. “Ever since she was a baby, she preferred wild creatures to dolls. She’s a strange little child like that.”

Hermione turned cautiously to Luna then. “But how _did_ she become a baby, Lu? You never even _hinted_ that you’d had a child. When Harry told me she was yours, I didn’t believe him.”

“It’s not something I wanted the world to know,” Luna replied, quietly. “It was to protect her.”

“From what?”

“More like from _whom_ ,” Luna corrected. “If her _father_ knew about her …”

Hermione blinked slowly, saying nothing, giving Luna the time to make the confession herself. But in the end Hermione had to push for the information, for Luna didn’t seem ready to disclose it of her own accord.

"But who is her father?" Hermione pressed. "You managed to escape a forced marriage because you're a Pureblood. But I've never known you to have a boyfriend, let alone someone to have a child with. And she must be ... what ... five? Six, at most?"

Luna closed her eyes and sighed. The memory clearly wasn't a happy one. Hermione's pulse thrummed in her neck. She almost didn't want to know, didn't want Luna to partake in what was obviously going to be a painful recollection.

"She's only just five," said Luna. "And I got pregnant the first time I was … the first time that sex was used as a weapon against me … as a weapon to punish me for trying to protect _Harry._ "

Hermione's heart bled in her shock and pity, but then Luna looked straight at her. It was a pointed stare that Hermione struggled to read.

"Do you remember, Hermione, when you were off in that tent with Harry?” she asked. “When you were hunting for pieces of Voldemort? The Snatchers came for me … dragged me right from my Daddy's arms. They took me to Malfoy Manor … and that’s when they started hurting me, and the others that were being held there, too.

“They wanted me to tell them things I didn't know … things about Harry. Where he was, what he was doing, things like that. But I couldn't tell them because I didn't know. But I don't think I _would_ have, even if I had. I like Harry a lot, I wouldn't have wanted to make trouble for him. But they kept hurting me because I couldn't tell them what they wanted to know.

“Then they came up with this _new_ idea, a _new_ way to hurt me, thinking that it might work. They made _Draco_ do it. I think they were punishing him a bit, too, because he really didn't want to. Not because of anything noble, he just didn't like me very much. So it was an act to shame him, too. They had to give him a special potion so he could do it. And he did … a few times. It hurt a lot, but I still couldn't tell them anything. Then you and Harry and Ron turned up and that poor little elf saved us."

Tears were streaming down Hermione's cheeks by the time Luna came to the end of her story. She just wanted to hug her, but there was that something in her look. It made Hermione feel at fault, somehow responsible for it.

“So … _Draco Malfoy_ is the father of your little girl?” Hermione whispered, wiping her eyes and staring at the white-blonde hair of the child with intense pity.

Luna nodded somewhat gravely. "I was five months gone by the time I even knew. I was never sick, and I didn't really show much of a bump until near the end. I know Draco is cruel and evil, but the baby growing in me didn't know that. It wasn't her fault. I couldn't punish her by denying her life and terminating my pregnancy. Besides, half of her was from me, and I'm quite nice, I think."

"You're more than nice!" Hermione cried. "You're lovely! You don't deserve any of this horror that has happened to you!"

“Thank you, Hermione," Luna replied, smiling weakly. "I know you and I were never as close as the others, but I've always liked you. Harry always spoke really highly of you, and that was a good enough endorsement for me."

Hermione could resist no longer. She reached over and grabbed Luna into a fierce bear hug that nearly sucked the life out of her. Luna returned her embrace and patted her back, as if she were the one in need of consoling. It was a good few minutes before they separated.

"So, who were those two people your daughter was with, at Glastonbury?" Hermione asked.

"Venusia was my cousin," Luna explained. "She and her husband, Clive, ran a small trinket shop in Glastonbury High Street. They sold keepsakes for the Muggles and proper magical stuff for everyone else. Vennie ran the shop and Clive made dream-catchers and pretty little gift boxes for the trinkets and things. They were good people, and never hurt anyone. They didn't deserve what happened to them.

"They were the ones who got me into a Muggle hospital to give birth. I knew Cesc would be in mortal danger the moment she was born, so I didn't want to put her on the Caduceus Maternity Centre records. And she couldn't live with me, either, for the same reasons. Vennie and Clive lived nearby so they took her, but I could always see her whenever I wanted."

"When did you tell her you were her real Mum?" asked Hermione.

"She always knew," said Luna. "She is really perceptive because of her gifts. I think she knew what we were doing was for her own good, but one day she accidentally called me 'Mummy'. I remember her thinking she was going to get told off for breaking the rules of 'the game' we were playing. She was so frightened, but I just gave her a hug and told her everything would be okay.

"And I was so happy that the truth was out, even if it was just between us. It was the first time I felt like a Mum. I'm more scared of it _now_ , actually. Venusia was more of a mother to Cesc than me … and I don't know if she will like being with me full-time. I don't know if I'll be any good at it."

"Of course you will be," said Hermione confidently. "In any case, you'll have all of us to help you. And once you get used to the others you'll soon feel like part of the family. Because that’s what we are here … one big family. Once you feel ready, we’ll be waiting to welcome you properly as its newest member."

"I'd like that," said Luna. "I haven't been part of a family for such a long time. I miss it. But where _are_ we, Hermione?"

And Hermione was off, explaining all about Harry’s miraculous escape from Voldemort and where he’d been for the past five years, ending with the tale of her dramatic rescue from her old flat the last time Hermione and Luna had been together. She ended the explanation by letting Luna in on the very good news about her recent engagement, and they spent a good while admiring her Quicksilver ring and talking about all things Harry.

"It’s an amazing story, really, isn't it?” Luna marvelled, sounding a bit more like her dreamy old self. “Harry died … but he _didn't_ die, and now you and him are together. It’s all so strange. Who would have guessed any of that two months ago at Harry's Deathday Party!"

Hermione shifted awkwardly on the floor. "Please don't call it that, Luna. I've only just about gotten used to having Harry back … I don't like the idea of him being dead again."

"I can understand that. None of us like to think of the people we love being dead," said Luna, conversationally. "Is his face really as bad as you say?"

"Harry thinks so," said Hermione. "But I've gotten used to it. I don't really see it at all anymore. It isn't a pretty sight, but I'm thrilled to have Harry alive _with it_ , rather than being dead without it."

Luna nodded at that. “Do you think he’d let me see? I think I’d like to.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hermione replied, feeling oddly covetous of the unique honour of seeing Harry unhindered by his coverings. “He wears shawls all the time that are full of spells to keep the pain away. He doesn’t take them off unless he really has to.”

“Or really _wants_ to,” Luna grinned. “And I bet _kissing you_ is something he really wants to do a lot!”

Hermione blushed shyly. “I think I can confidently say it’s his new favourite thing!”

“I’m really pleased for you, Hermione,” Luna beamed, sincerely. “You deserve to be happy. It suits you, makes you look really well again. I always thought that you and Harry had something going on when we were still at school, you know."

Hermione's jaw dropped open in startled shock. "You did? Why?"

"Well, it’s not normal for a boy and a girl to be as close as you two were and there _not_ be something going on," said Luna. "I know Ron was your friend, too, but everyone could tell that you and Harry were closer.

"That's why no-one was surprised by those articles about the pair of you, the ones that came out during the Triwazard Tournament, remember? It was only a surprise that you didn't come out and confirm it. We had a wager in Ravenclaw on when we'd first see you two snogging each other's faces off around the corridors. I might still be eligible to win the pot, actually, seeing as it was never claimed."

"I'd get in touch with Gringotts right away!" said Hermione, sardonically.

“I don’t know, I’d have to be sure that the terms of the wager had been fulfilled.”

“And what were they?” Hermione quizzed.

Luna cocked a curious look at her. “Well … have you slept together yet? I would have by now, if I were you," she added as an afterthought.

Hermione gasped at Luna’s frankness. “No, Harry and I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

"What, not even during all those months you spent alone together in that tent?" asked Luna. "You must have slept together _then_? Especially after Ron abandoned you."

Hermione felt a bitter anger swill in her at the memory. Luna was right, Ron _had_ abandoned them. And the stark, jarring way that she just spelled it out made the whole thing ten times worse.

Hermione had forgotten it, in truth. She recalled it now, and despised the ginger tosser even more. And why _hadn't_ she slept with Harry when they were all alone, come to think of it? Even if just for a bit of comfort, to feel _something_ other than fear and agony, and the ache of the cold and hunger? It was just another episode for Hermione to regret where Harry was concerned.

"Harry and I will sleep together eventually," Hermione replied. "It’s just complicated for us both at the moment. Harry has an aversion to being touched, but I'm getting through that barrier slowly. And after four years of being smacked around by Ron, I wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to have another man's hands on me. But now, I can’t _wait_ for Harry to touch every bit of me that he can reach!”

Luna nodded in sympathetic understanding. “I get that … and that’s how _I’m_ feeling at the moment. I didn’t mean to be so horrible to Harry the other day. You've all done a wonderful thing in rescuing me and my little girl, but I’m just not ready to have a male presence invade me again … not in _any_ way. I hope he understands that and isn’t angry with me.”

“Harry knows exactly why you reacted as you did, and he’s patient enough to give you all the time you need,” Hermione reassured her. “He only wants to help, but if he cant do that up close he knows that there are other ways.”

Hermione pointedly straightened the lapels on Luna’s pyjama top, an outfit that Harry had personally spelled and rune-woven to aid with Luna’s physical recuperation. The enchantments were helping her to recover more and more of her strength with each passing day.

“I know, and I am grateful,” Luna mumbled. She pulled a blanket tight over her shoulders. “I just need some time on my own to heal before I can face anyone. My Cesc wont allow me to wallow in self-pity for too long. She needs me to be strong, just like she is.”

“You’ve both been through a terrible ordeal … we _all_ have, in our own ways,” Hermione grimaced in pity. “But you don’t have to suffer alone. We’re all here to help each other.”

“I know … which is why I’ll let Harry talk to Celesca about your parents.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. Luna, for all her woes, still hadn’t lost an ounce of her forthrightness.

“How do you know about that? I didn’t mention -”

“I told her,” little Celesca chirped brightly from the floor. “Mr Harry was having bad dreams, because he doesn’t know how to help you … and he doesn’t like it when he’s like that. And I like Mr Harry, so I want to help him. Mummy didn’t want me to at first, but I told her that Mr Harry is going to be my pretend Daddy for a little bit, so I’m his pretend _daughter,_ too. And daughters are supposed to help their daddies, aren’t they, whether they are just pretending or not?”

“Well, yes, I suppose they are,” Hermione replied, trying desperately to get her frantic thoughts in order.

For the idea of Harry practising _fatherhood_ had ignited those dormant maternal desires in her again. First love, then engagement … it followed that _family_ came next in the linear order of things, but Hermione had never expected any of it to happen so fast. Or that she’d want it so much when it did. But there it was, firmly implanted into her brain. She felt slightly rattled by it.

“What is it that Harry needs Cesc to do?” Luna was asking.

Hermione was jolted back to the moment. She bothered the corner of the quilt as she spoke again.

“My parents were murdered, cut down in the _sterilisation_ of the magical gene pool,” Hermione reminded Luna. “Harry and I discovered where it happened, and that _Ron_ authorised it.”

“Oh, Hermione! That’s awful! I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not your fault,” Hermione replied. “Be angry for me, if you want to be anyting. _I_ am. But anyway, I’ve asked Harry if he can recover my parent’s remains, bring them here so we can bury them properly. The problem we have is that the mass graves were chaotic … Harry doesn’t know how to identify the correct bones from the hundreds of others that suffered the same fate as my parents. He wants Celesca to help him with it.”

Luna frowned. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but if you’re going to ask me to let Harry take Cesc with him to locate your parent’s remains, I’m going to have to say no. It’s too dangerous for her out there.”

“Oh, no. We quite agree. After what happened in Glastonbury, it seems quite clear that Celesca is of great importance to _someone_ out there. Harry wouldn’t let her leave the wards any more than he would _me_ just now.”

“That what _does_ he want with her?”

“Harry is heavily into ritual magic these days,” Hermione explained. “On the first sub-level of the palace, he built a special chamber to conduct all sorts of advanced spellcraft. He wants to take Celesca inside and have her use her Seer magic to, essentially, _remote view_ the site of my parent's burial. The magic of the chamber should enhance the accuracy of her visions of the future, so if she can imagine Harry finding the right bones it will help him immensely.”

“So, she wouldn’t be leaving the grounds?” Luna asked, cautiously.

“She wouldn’t even be leaving the _house_ ,” Hermione assured her. “And it’s all perfectly safe for her. Harry would never knowingly put her at risk.”

“Would you be with her? I’d feel a lot more comfortable if I knew that you were there to keep an extra eye on her.”

“If you’d prefer that, then of course I will,” Hermione nodded, keenly. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, either.”

Luna bit her lip and deliberated a moment. She stared at her little girl for these few, pensive seconds. Then she slowly nodded.

“Okay, Hermione, I’ll allow Cesc to help Harry,” Luna conceded. “But you will take every care with her, wont you? She’s been through enough trauma lately.”

“I swear to you, Lu, not a hair on her head will be harmed,” Hermione promised, faithfully.

Luna nodded in thanks. Then she turned to Hermione with a hopeful expression. “Speaking of _hair_ , perhaps there’s something you can do for me in return. I always liked _mine_ … I’m cold without it. I miss it. Could you find a spell to help it grow back quicker?”

Hermione grinned at her. “Give me half an hour to scour my library … I’m sure I’ll find the right spell _somewhere_ in there. I can’t _wait_ to show it to you, Lu … it’s _enormous_!”

* * *

It was a few minutes before Neville was certain …

He was being followed. But he wasn’t worried about that … in fact, this is what he _wanted_.

Finding Terry Boot hadn’t been hard. There was a small, pokey cafe bar opposite Birmingham Central Bus station called _The Kerryman_. It was nominally an Irish-themed bar, but the only Irish that came in here were the rough gypsies looking for a crooked bet, or a good scrap, on a Saturday night. The rest of the patrons were generally low-life's and down-and-outs, and the staff were hired seemingly for their freedom from the restraints of common manners and courtesy.

It was the ideal sort of drinking den for some of Lord Voldemort’s street-level spies.

Neville had tried several of the usual hang-outs for the magical thugs that evening without success. Then, on his third try, he found his quarry. Terry Boot had been a Ravenclaw and Harry and never much liked him. He remembered him flirting with Hermione once during a DA meeting. Even back then, that was likely to earn a scowl from Harry, even if he, himself, hadn’t quite known why.

These days, that was the kind of shit that would get a wizard killed … or worse, _castrated_.

Neville had ambled into the pub and endured the drop in hushed conversation, that always greeted the arrival of a stranger in a place like this. Unabashed, he’d approached the bar with all eyes following him, and ordered himself a dark beer and a whiskey chaser, before standing firmly still until the volume rose again. _Irish_ whiskey, naturally, which he downed in one, savouring the burn all the way from his tongue to his belly. Then Neville turned and sat on a bar stool, resting his elbows behind him on the counter-top and assessing his surroundings.

There were no women in here, that was the first thing that struck him. The dozen or so rickety tables were taken up by brutish men in various gnarled states, some still puffing on cigarettes despite the ban on smoking that had long existed in British pubs. They were rules for the outside world, where respectability still had a place. They had no business here, amongst the chipped enamel boards and smoke-faded posters of toucans and adverts for Irish stout.

It took some minutes before Neville spotted the face he was looking for. Part-shrouded by this low-hanging cloud of tobacco-scented battle smoke, Terry Boot was huddled in a corner with another man, a spotty-faced youth who was clearly nothing more than a local Muggle cannabis pusher, and whose clients were probably younger than he was. Neville locked his gaze onto this once-schoolyard peer of his, keeping his eyes fixed on him until Boot seemed to realise that he was being watched.

Then he looked up directly into Neville's face, recognition flared in his expression, then Neville downed the rest of his beer and made his way outside … and Boot followed swiftly, like a junkie in pursuit of a free fix.

Neville led his target back towards the town centre. It would be easy to overpower Boot, but he had to know if he was working alone tonight or not. And the task was quite straightforward to accomplish. Neville had learned the arts of stealth and tracking from Harry Potter himself, stalking their enemies alongside him and coming up so close that they could have smelled their putrid, Death Eater breath before they’d be noticed.

But Terry Boot was nothing like as skilled. Neville could tell that from his nervous movements and sudden pauses, where he was watching him in the reflections of banks and office doors and shop windows, and even the shiny silver shell of the Bullring shopping centre. Effective tracking was always best conducted in teams of two or three, with an experienced Spotter guiding the tracker on the ground.

It became quickly apparent that Boot was neither skilled nor in a team tonight. He was easy prey for a wizard like Neville Longbottom.

Neville led Boot towards the Chinatown area of the city centre. The Chinese bazaar there was perfect for his needs. There were over a dozen lanes of stalls and scores of shops and kiosks, selling foodstuffs and spices and oriental fashions … and there were lots of places to slip out of sight. Not that Neville wanted to hide from Boot … on the contrary, he wanted to turn the tables and start following _him_.

He slipped through the large, elaborately decorated scarlet arch with the golden dragon on top and darted inside the first stall, which was selling drapes and oriental tapestries. Boot followed and looked around quickly, craning his head this way and that, too swiftly to really see anything. Neville had his back turned, but was watching in the face of his wristwatch, which he could transform into a small mirror by pressing on one of the dials. The proprietor of the stall was busy with another customer and gave Neville no more than a fleeting glance.

Then Boot moved off. Neville went with him, keeping a safe distance but never losing sight of his man. He was careful to never look directly at him, just in case he turned around abruptly and spotted him. Boot’s agitation was clear, and his anxious uncertainty hung about him like a vapour. Neville inched closer, blending in seamlessly to the racks of sweet-smelling spices and lanterns that hung across the stalls, watching Boot’s nervous movements and never missing a single one.

For Boot was growing despondent, judging by his posture, having lost his quarry within the crowd. He moved further into the heart of the bazaar, looking around in increasing desperation. Neville kept pace, moving closer and closer, little by little, quietening his mind, just in case Boot knew how to send out a general Legilimency spell to pick up on any magical brainwave activity nearby. Neville was reasonably confident that Harry had _invented_ that particular spell, but it was never a bad thing to be overcautious when dealing with enemies like this in the field.

Then the Dark Wizard stopped to get his bearings. There was an ornate fountain at the junction of the two main shopping lanes and Boot paused there to drink from the spring. Neville hung back in the shadows of large Buddha statue, waiting for his moment. Boot bent over to scoop yet more water into his hands.

And that was when Neville pounced.

Darting forwards like a ghost, he came up behind Boot just as he was swallowing the water. He turned, eyes wide in surprise, as Neville balled up his fist and drove it fiercely into Boot’s solar plexus. A rib cracked, Neville heard that, but he kept his fist embedded in the fleshy stomach muscle, using his other strong hand to keep Boot steady and upright. He coughed, spluttered out his water, but then froze as Neville reached down and drew his wand, jabbing it into the base of Boot’s spine.

“You’ll come with me, Terry. Nice and quiet now.”

Boot could do little more than scowl and cradle his broken rib as Neville prodded him forwards. They left the bazaar and headed out into a side alley, near the deserted outdoor market a short distance away. Once clear from any prying eyes, Neville cast a Scrambler spell - so that their Apparition couldn’t be traced - then took hold of Boot’s arm and whipped him away to a secure location.

Once there, Neville slammed Boot into a chair that had been set up in preparation for his capture, before flicking a Binding Hex at him. Strong ropes snapped into life, fixing the Dark Wizard firmly in place. Neville relieved him of his wand, then stepped back into the gloom of the darkened room that he had brought them to.

“You cunt, Longbottom! You’ve broken my fucking ribs!” Boot hissed, wincing in his discomfort.

“Oh, that’s just the beginning, Terry … you’re in for a long night, my friend.”

And all the colour left Terry Boot’s face like paint draining from a wet canvas.

“P-Potter? Is … is that you?”

“Unfortunately for you, Terry … _yes_ it is.”

Harry stalked out from the shadows and into the weak circle of light thrown down by the grubby lamp in the high ceiling. He had chosen a blood-red shawl for this _interrogation_ and it stood out sharp and stark, menacing against the darkness behind. His single eye flashed in deadly emerald, his breathing low and tremulous.

“W-what do you want?” Boot stuttered. He knew very well what his fate would be … and he was singularly terrified of it. After all, _everyone_ had heard about what Potter did to that poor bastard Zabini … and Boot had previous with Potter’s missus. This wasn’t going to go well for him.

“You know why I’m here, Terry,” Harry taunted, his tone calm and conversational as he moved in a circle around his captive. “Indiscretions against the most important woman in my life cannot go unpunished. I could never look her in the face if I let such things go … and I so _love_ to look in her face, as she’s the prettiest witch in the world.

“Surely you must have known that this day would come, would know what happens to those people cowardly enough to do the bidding of a prick like Lord Voldemort? And against my Hermione, no less? I can think of no _greater_ crime to commit. Tut, tut, Terry. For a Ravenclaw, that was a spectacularly _stupid_ thing to do. And I have it on good authority that most people I went to school with suspected that there was an attachment between Hermione Granger and myself, one that went far beyond mere friendship. So ignorance is no excuse.”

“I was just following orders, Potter, I had no choice!”

Harry swept down on Boot, so that his furious eye was pulsating close to one of his own.

“No choice! Cowardly traitor!” Harry scythed dangerously. “Look at me, Terry. Look at me! Goddamit! No choice … your Dark Lord took my _eye_ and I’m _still_ here fighting. I’d have sooner died than roll over and lick the shit from his shoes. You disgust me.”

Then Harry spat right in Terry Boot’s face. He sneered at him, watching the spittle dribble down his cheek and into the corner of his mouth. Boot gagged and spat and tried to shake the saliva away.

“But, to business,” Harry went on, moving away and resuming his chatty tenor. “You have something I want, a piece of information that you are going to give to me. Now, depending on how retarded you are, this could hurt … or it could _fucking_ hurt. Either way, you’re getting punished tonight, Terry. Accept that fact like a man and this will all be over sooner. You deserve this retribution, but I’m merciful enough to give you a chance to walk out of this with your worthless life largely intact, albeit minus a limb or two.”

Boot whimpered in his seat. He knew Harry was utterly serious, that deathly truth was laced into every syllable that left his lips. This wasn’t the Harry Potter of Hogwarts … it was the Harry Potter who had, again, survived a Killing Curse, and who had come back armed with the fires of Hell to claim his vengeance. It was a legend that made even the most hardened of Death Eaters quake with the notion of it.

And the understanding caused a mid-level grunt like Terry Boot to soil himself in his abject terror.

“I’ll tell you anything … please, Potter,” Boot begged, shamed by the stench of his raging panic as it reached his nostrils. “And I have money … it’s all yours … please!”

Harry flicked an angry Slicing Hex at Boot, opening up a deep gouge right across the centre of his face.

“You _dare_ to offer me money!” Harry yelled. “To bribe me for my pity! You _murdered_ my future parents-in-law. There has never been enough coin _minted_ in the history of the world that would make up for such an act!”

“I’m sorry, Harry!” Boot plead again, spluttering as the first trail of blood seeped along his lips from his gaping cut. “What is it you want!? Tell me! It’s yours!”

Harry stepped closer, pressing his wand and all its heaving magic to Terry Boot’s temple. “You have two pieces of information that I would like very much to know. The first one is the frequency of the magical ward surrounding the Muggleborn Bearers mass grave site, in Abingdon. I could smash my way through by force, but knowing you bastards it would only trigger some contingency mechanism and the whole place would go up in flames. That would make me _really_ cross, Terry.

“The second is, I want you to tell me … in _excruciating_ detail … of every single transaction you had with Ronald Weasley regarding the murder of my Hermione’s parents. I want locations, I want to know what you discussed and I want to know exactly how involved he was. I will then take these memories away for my own analysis.

“But let’s get one thing brutally clear here, Terry … I _will_ have those memories tonight. And if I have to _drill_ into that cowardly, traitor brain of yours to make sure you are telling me the truth, believe me when I say I'll do it with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. It will be a test of your desire for self-preservation how co-operative you choose to be.

"Because, if I find you lying in even the _slightest_ way, I will cause you so much pain that you will forget that you ever had a life without it. I will rip your weak fucking mind into a million pieces, then put it back all scrambled and broken. That’s not a fate you want, Terry, trust me on that. I _know_ … it was how your fucking Dark Lord left me … and how _I_ intend to leave _him_ when I’m finished with that filthy snake fucker.

“And, as a demonstration of my sincerity, here’s a little display. Neville?”

Neville stepped forward and grabbed Boot’s hand, forcing his fingers to splay apart on the armrest of the chair. Harry moved closer, brandished his wand, then looked emotionlessly at Terry Boot … before slicing his index finger clear off at the knuckle without any warning. Boot screamed and screamed, watching the blood pour from the slashed wound. The sight made him pass out, but Harry revived him again in barely a second.

It really wasn’t going to be Terry Boot's night.

* * *

Some time later and Harry found himself in the darkness of an open field just outside the city of Oxford. The illuminated spires of the great university city stood out in the distance, a hundred pinpricks of light against the night sky, but Harry had no mind to admire such beauty. Instead, he focused on the dark mounds of earth which spread out in front of him.

And there were _mounds_ … for the mass grave pits here were _numerous_.

Harry felt corrosively angry. He’d sent Neville to stand guard outside the location entrance, just in case he erupted and hurt his best mate in a burst of uncontrolled rancour. That wouldn’t do at all. But the very sight before him was causing the plasma to boil in his very cells.

Six? Ten? A dozen? In the dark it was hard to tell for sure, but the site was so vast that it could have been as many as _twenty_ pits that were located here. Harry would have loved nothing more than to exhume every one of them and bring the poor lost souls home to rest. But he didn’t have anything like that sort of time, and the realisation made his heart bleed with the bitterness of it

Because that’s what this place was … a repository of wandering, aimless souls. The grave site was densely haunted by them. Celesca Lovegood had picked up on that during her reading in the Ritual Chamber ... and now Harry was here, he could actually _feel_ it for himself. Trapped by the cruel containment spells embedded into the security wards, the souls of the dead had nowhere to go. Murdered, then buried without any sort of funeral rite performed, they had no idea how to cross over to the realm beyond. Many probably didn’t even know that they were actually dead.

But Harry had to put aside his throbbing pity for them and stay focused. Armed with Terry Boot’s extracted memory, and the collection of runic crystals that would temporarily house the souls of David and Catrin Granger, for transport back to the Blue Palace, Harry set to work.

Firstly, he took out the vial containing Terry’s memory of the day of the Granger's execution and poured it onto the ground. Casting a complex little spell, Harry brought the memory to life, watching as it played out like a spectral echo. He had to fight back a surge of anger that rushed up from his gut, as he saw Ron and Terry laughing and joking as they crossed the site towards a pit in the middle, uncaring, unfeeling about what they were here to do.

Harry went with them, grinding his jaw furiously as he listened to their conversation.

“So, you’ve sold their house?” Terry was asking. His tone was so breezy and relaxed that Harry felt quite nauseous as he heard it.

“Yeah,” Ron replied with a tittering simper. “Fucking Muggles, they’re so _dumb!_ I hit them all with the Imperius … made them drive the price higher and higher with the estate agent. When it got to four hundred thousand I thought I’d better stop in case the whole thing went bust. The house is only worth two-fifty! It’s what I call a cosy profit!”

Terry guffawed next to him. “And you’ll get to swipe the wedding rings when we’re done today. Looks like a fairly solid block of gold on the mother’s finger. Might get another grand out of it.”

Harry swung an irate fist, first through Terry’s head then Ron's … but the echoes felt not a thing.

Ron chuckled in his amusement as they went along. They stopped at the centre-most grave pit. Harry held his emotion tight as he saw the Grangers on their knees facing the sheer drop into the crevice below. It was filled in now, but the memory showed it as it would have been. There were already other spectral bodies strewn at the bottom.

That made Harry screech out in his rage … for the Grangers would have seen this … would have _known_ what was about to happen to them! How long would they have been kept there, petrified in their anticipation of what was to come, staring at the corpses they would soon join? Harry couldn’t wrap his mind around that. He was glad that Hermione couldn’t see this … the sight might have broken her.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” Ron announced in a bored sort of drawl. “I feel infected just breathing the same _air_ as this filth. I don’t know how you stand it, Boot.”

“It pays well,” Terry shrugged, sounding as though he didn’t much care either way.

Harry was hit with a pang of searing regret … if he’d known Boot was this bad, this callously involved, he’d have taken his life … not just his wand hand, his ears and one of his lungs.

And then, a sound to chill Harry’s very bone marrow.

“Ronald? Is that you?”

Harry had never spoken to Hermione’s parents, only ever once overheard their voices, during a bygone visit to Diagon Alley years ago. But the tone of her mother’s speech was distinctly familiar. She had the same sort of accent as Hermione, a similar inflection to the one that Harry knew so well in his future wife. Only he had never heard it laced with such desperate fear before. It froze every muscle in Harry’s body as he watched the scene continue, hardly able to keep his eye on it.

“Yes, hello, Catrin,” Ron replied, coldly. “It is me.”

“Ronald, please! Help us!” Catrin Granger begged, hopelessly. “Please help us get out of this!”

“Now why would I do that?” Ron returned with callous vitriol. “When I was the one who _put you_ here?”

“Ron … _why_?” David Granger implored. “Why are you doing this to us? Does Hermione know?”

“Of course she doesn’t. I’m going to save that detail for when I _really_ want to wound her. When that day comes it wont much matter. She’ll be bent over a pit just like this, facing the same fate. I just want her to go out of this world as miserably as she entered it.”

“Why would you do this? She’s your wife!” David cried, angrily. "You told us you loved her!"

“Correction, she’s my _property,_ ” Ron sneered back. “And I’ll do what I like with my own _possessions_ , thank you very much. I’ll make her pay for all times she’s shown me up, for making me share the same Mudblood air with her for so many years. No wonder I was so hopeless for so long … she _held me back_. Well, turnabout’s fair play, isn’t it? Now I get to hold her _down_ , under my boot if I choose it.

“Right, let’s get this done. Boot, stand back and aim your wand… there a small matter of _personal interest_ involved with this, so we have to time it just right. Cast on three ...”

And Ron drew his wand, flicking it at each of the Granger’s backs in turn. He cast a spell … and Harry was not only appalled by the sight … but angrily _mesmerized_ by it, too _._ For they hadn’t just killed Hermione’s parents in cold blood … but Ron had done something else along with it … something involving their _souls_.

“What is this? What did you _do_ , Ron?”

Harry watched as Ron drew a thin sliver of ectoplasmic energy from each of the Grangers and trapped them inside a housing crystal, much like Harry was about to do now. Then he turned and walked away. Harry tried to follow, but the memory ended and the spectral echo of Ron dissipated into the dark night. Harry stood in cold contemplation a moment, wondering what he’d just seen.

“Ron took their _souls!_ ” he whispered breathily. “But to do ... _what_? Celesca said they are still here, so he must have brought them _back_ at some point, too. What in the hell is going on?”

Harry had no answers, just a whole host of new questions. He lined them up in his mind, as he drew his wand and began dislodging piles of earth right from the spot that Celesca had told him the bodies would be. When he reached the burial level, Harry pulled his own memory of the Ritual Chamber session with Luna’s daughter and lined it up over his vision, watching as it fell across the correct bones like the chalk outline at a murder scene.

Patiently, and taking as much care as he possessed, Harry lifted the bones clear, before lowering them carefully into a box that he had resized from within his cloak. Shrinking it again and storing it safely away, Harry laid his crystals out on the floor and began his incantations, coaxing the souls of David and Catrin Granger closer to him.

Then Harry breathed in shocked fury, as they entered his field of magical perception … for they were unmistakeably _damaged_. Someone had managed to injure their very _souls_. Harry didn't even know that was _possible!_

“What did they do to you?” Harry hushed quietly, gently guiding first Catrin, then David, into the protection of the crystals. They were too damaged to be able to respond on any level, had they even known how to. Harry quickly sealed up the crystals and placed them next to the shrunken casket in his pocket.

Then he stood and prepared to go. He had so many new questions, so much to chew over and analyse. But the most pressing question was the one he felt least qualified to answer … for what in the name of hell was he going to tell Hermione?


	24. Rites of Passage

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry carefully lowered the last of the earth onto the second mound. He twirled his wand carefully, casting a series of Celtic runes into the two piles of soil either side of him. Some of the ancient symbol-spells were for protection, others for guidance on a journey into the unknown. He called on the white hounds of Arawn as protectors for the spirits. They came, as a white mist, which swirled and hummed lowly around the mausoleum.

Harry closed his eyes, satisfied that his work was done. His father would take care of the rest, when the souls reached the _other side_.

He stepped away then, pocketing his wand slowly. He edged back, each step considered and respectful, until he was standing behind Hermione. He slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her gently towards him until her shoulders, shuddering with silent tears, were pressed fully into his chest. She slid her hands over his and held on tight, letting her grief consume her.

In truth, it was consuming them _both_. Harry, himself, was struggling to breathe. Just seeing Hermione this inconsolably upset was beyond his breaking point. He vainly fought against tears and softly kissed the top of her head, hoping it might help soothe her. He was eminently pleased that he hadn't found a way to tell her all of the awful truth yet ... he didn't think he could have coped with seeing her so fitfully anxious on top of her heart-wrenching sorrow. 

Harry had simply been caught off-guard by all this ... hadn't expected that burying Hermione's parents would be so traumatic for _him._

Hermione turned to him just then, so that they were facing each other. Eyes closed, they pressed their foreheads together, breathing in rhythm. Her hands slid down to hold his waist; he mimicked her actions, his arms encircling and encasing her own. He couldn't protect her from this, but his tight hold would at least tell her that she wasn't alone. He knew how much worse it would be for her if she was.

After all, _he_ had been when ... he did this for his own parents.

For a moment, they just breathed together, Hermione's wracking sobs dwindling to a steady stream of quiet tears. Harry couldn't stand to see her like this.

"Are you going to be alright?" he asked softly.

Hermione sighed. "I knew this would be hard ... even though I've known they've been dead for years. I was just numb when Ron told me ... when he told me they'd been ... when _he_ murdered them. But I don't think I processed it then. It's been years, but burying them now ... it feels like it happened yesterday."

Hermione whined in anguish again and fresh tears flowed down her cheeks. Harry tightened his grip on her hips.

"I don't think I can stay here any longer, Harry," Hermione moaned. "Can we take a walk? This is so hard for me."

"I know, I know," Harry breathed, as he shifted his arm around Hermione's shoulders and guided her into one of the pretty rock gardens that backed onto the mausoleum. It was cool and dark in here, lit only by small orb-shaped lamps that lined the edge of the walkways. "It was the same for me ... when it was _my_ Mum and Dad that I said goodbye to here."

Hermione pulled her head back, fixing her puffy eyes on his lone one. "It was?"

Harry nodded. "Bringing my parents here ... it was one of the first things I did when took ownership of the place. I couldn't stand the thought of them being so vulnerable to any of Tom Riddle's dark minions. I was right, too, 'cause when I went to get them from Godric's Hollow, a couple of drunks were at their graves, _pissing_ on them."

"Oh, _Harry"_ cried Hermione, aghast. "What did you do?"

"You can imagine I wasn't best pleased," said Harry, evasively. "They were the first beatings I handed out after my _resurrection_. I called Rhian immediately I was sated, and she helped me exhume my parent's remains."

"Then you buried them here?"

Harry nodded again. "The elves dug the plots, I helped carve the headstones. Then I conducted the ceremony by myself. It was like they'd been killed that morning ... the whole thing nearly shattered me all over again. I was a mess. And, don't forget, in my damaged mind I'd not long seen my mother on the train to the afterlife. Everything was still pretty raw. I didn't know how I was supposed to get over it."

Hermione snaked her arm right around Harry's middle and hugged him flush to her. "Oh, you poor thing! How you must have suffered! But why did you do it alone?"

"There was no-one else here back then," Harry explained. "I hadn't found Neville yet, or recruited my Inner Circle wizards. Enola was around, but I didn't feel comfortable enough with her then to share such a private moment. So in the end it was just me and Rhian and Lily."

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

"It wasn't your fault," said Harry, confused. "You didn't kill them."

"No, but I should have been here with you!" said Hermione, somewhat shrilly. "I gave up on you far too easily, and all these things that I should have been here to help you with, you were left to face on your own. I should have fought harder for you, both for your memory when I thought you'd died and for your love when we were still at Hogwarts. If we'd been together _then_ , I'd have never left your side the night of the Battle ... never have let you go to the Forest alone, if at all. And I'd not have been stuck with Ron in the aftermath. Everything's all my fault."

"Don't do that," said Harry firmly. "It didn't happen that way, but regretting it wont change anything. You're no more at fault than I am. We're here now, and it's not been perfect, but we've got a lifetime to put it right. That's all that matters. You're just feeling emotional today, but don't let it lead to more needless regret."

Hermione pulled Harry as tightly as she could manage. They were coming to that part of the walk where a pretty little footbridge crossed the lily-pond that was found there. The view from the middle of the bridge looked straight out through a gap in the hanging trees of the garden and off towards the horizon. The sun was just setting now, and Harry and Hermione stopped a moment to watch in contemplative silence.

Harry took the opportunity presented by the pause and brought a hand up Hermione's back, before letting it get lost in the floral shampoo-scented abyss of her bushy hair. He loved this, the gentility of it. In a life that had been so coarse and brutal, this was a refreshing change of pace. One day, he'd have to find a way to tell her, in a way that would do the whole thing justice.

After a minute or so, Hermione disentangled herself from Harry's arms. He felt her go sadly, he'd have liked to have kept her there just a little longer, despite the morbidity of their situation. But he was joyous a moment later, for Hermione had merely shifted to an earlier position, with her back pressed into Harry's chest. She pulled his arms back around her waist and folded her own over them, interlocking their fingers when they fell so perfectly together.

"Thank you, Harry, for doing this."

Harry scoffed. He felt slightly affronted. As if he would have done anything else? He couldn't believe she even felt she had to thank him for such a thing, and told her so quite forcefully.

"I just meant for putting them by _your_ Mum and Dad," Hermione replied, almost speechless at Harry's suggestion that he would do practically anything for her and she'd never have to thank him for any of it.

"It's their rightful place," Harry sighed sadly, as they both watched the blood-red sun dip behind the hills before them. "We were both robbed of them in life, so the least we can do is place them together for their eternal rest. How long was it ... after the war? When did you lose them?"

Hermione stiffened in Harry's arms. "It wasn't even me who found them ... it was Ron. He always told me that it was for a wedding present, and I even believed him for a bit. I was so grateful to have them back, so blinded by my affection for my parents, that I overlooked what I'm now convinced Ron's _real_ motive was."

"Which was?"

"His Act of Fealty to Riddle," Hermione hissed. "He hadn't murdered anyone by that point, hadn't _earned_ his Dark Mark. So I think delivering my parents to Riddle was the next best thing he could do, to prove his loyalty. Then Riddle tested him ... just to see if he would follow it through. We both know he _passed_ that test.

"Oh, Harry! This is all so wrong! It makes me so mad! I let Ron bring my parents back, when they would have been safer where they were. Then my father actually gave me away to him, to the man who would treat me so abominably and actually sign their death warrant a few months later. If only they'd known, if only they could see what my real husband could have been ... oh, how I wish they could have met you." 

"They might not have been much more impressed, to be honest ... I doubt they would approve of me!"

Hermione cocked her head up at him, an amused sort of grin on her face. "Now why would you think that?"

"Leaving aside the fact that nobody would be good enough for you," Harry began, causing a deep flush to steal over Hermione's cheeks. "I don't think we can call me a wholesome sort of bloke, can we? I'm mad, bad and dangerous to know. I've killed people, and have people trying to kill me. I'm also ugly as fuck. Not exactly the ideal sort of man to take home to meet the folks, am I?"

Hermione chuckled and squeezed Harry's hands with her own. "First off, if it wasn't for the scar you'd be gorgeous. Even _with it_ , most witches would happily bang your brains out. Because your face is only a piece of your beauty ... it's in your heart, and courage, and kindness where you are truly beautiful. And then there's your magic, which reduces everyone to gibbering wrecks because it's so sexually potent. What's not to love about that?"

Harry laughed. "I'm not sure sexual potency is something I'd choose to mention in front of the future in-laws!"

"No, perhaps not," Hermione agreed. "Especially as you haven't mentioned it in front of your future _wife_ yet. Or demonstrated it. I'm on the verge of getting very impatient with you, Harry, just so you know!"

"I do know," Harry chuckled again, hugging her a little closer. "I _was_ waiting until I could put a ring of some sort on your finger, but even though we've done that, we don't seem to be any nearer to ridding you of the ring that your _Truly Wedded Lord_ forced onto you. I know we used to be a trio, but inviting him to share in our first time is a bit of a stretch for me!"

"Fuck you, Harry. Don't call _him_ that!"

"I'm just teasing."

"I know. But I hate it ... really _fucking_ hate it! Every single bit of it."

"I'm sorry. I know how much it bothers you," said Harry.

"Bothers me? _Bothers me?_ That doesn't even come close to describing it!" Hermione cried. "Apart from abusing me, and cursing me in my sleep, and creating a connection that allows him to break into my mind at will, he's also stopping me from getting married to you.

"And now you say that this is why you wont sleep with me either! So he's enforcing celibacy on me, too, when all I want is for you to make love to me! I'm literally going to rip him apart when I get my hands on him. I wont even use magic ... my pure hatred will be more than enough."

Harry laughed aloud. "I love you, you know?"

Hermione shifted in his arms and pressed back against him. Harry knew it was the effect of his words coursing through her, as he felt her energies change, soften, and reach out to entwine with his own. He lost his breath a moment as they touched, almost too tender to bear, but drowned in them a moment later as the sensation became one of pure bliss.

Hermione was wildly thrilled every time Harry told her that he loved her. He found it quite hard to completely wrap his head around that, but the effect was right in front of him, surging and pulsing around them like a gently lapping tide. It was like being in a shroud of delicious emotion that kept the rest of the world, and all of its darkness, firmly at arm's length.

"I love you, too."

Now it was Harry's turn to be dizzied by a declaration. He knew it, felt it on so many levels, but still found it hard to believe or accept. It was only when Hermione spoke the words, laced with such intense sincerity, that Harry truly allowed himself to hope that they were true. That he was actually _loved_ by someone. That it wasn't a mistake, or just a burst of empathy for someone else ... someone normal, someone who was used to love in their life.

He _,_ Harry Potter, was loved, no matter how much he doubted his worthiness for the honour. He was loved, and not just by anyone ... but by the girl for whom his entire world span.

It was almost too much for him ... it threatened silly tears just thinking about it.

Hermione seemed to sense the rise in Harry's emotion. She smoothed his fingers softly, and lovingly rubbed the crown of her head against his cheek, while her own energy billowed out and coated his own. Harry felt it with a breathtaking shock of surprise ... it was as if he were being caressed on his very soul.

Where had she learned to do _this_? Were there books on this in the library she never seemed to want to leave? It was ritual-level intimacy, out in the open world, but utterly under Hermione's control and guidance. Harry tried to speak, to do something, _anything_ to articulate the sensation ... but all forms of communication were beyond his powers just then. 

Hermione was ready for him, delighted in his overwhelmed reaction. "Sssh, don't speak," she said breathily, sultrily. "Just feel me ... all my love, all my magic, everything ... inside and out. I love you, Harry, but if you wont _make_ love to me yet, you wont deny me this. I want to be as close to you as I can, and you keep telling me that this is more intimate than anything physical ... so until we get _that_ far, let's give in to this first."

Harry closed his eye and got lost in the swell of emotion. It was as if Hermione's gorgeous energy was pulsating all around inside him, massaging every particle of his being. The joy of the sensation was taking the floor from beneath his feet. It was such a sweet fall ... and Hermione was tumbling right along with him, gripping on tight as she struggled to maintain her balance, as the feeling threatened to overpower her, too. Harry could have happily stayed here forever and got lost in this ... but he was feeling playful now and had to indulge it by correcting Hermione on something.

"I will make love to you," Harry whispered throatily into Hermione's hair. "And soon."

"Don't make promises you don't intend to keep," Hermione scoffed, breaking away and turning crossly. "You said we weren't going to commit _Weasley_ _-icide_ any time in the near future, so don't tease me with either of those things."

"I'm not teasing."

"Harry ... you'd better explain yourself _very_ quickly _,_ or I must just change my mind about taking your virginity after all!"

Harry hooted out a laugh. "Is that your permission for me to get some other witch to do it? You can pick the lucky girl if you like!"

" _Harry_ ..." Hermione replied, her voice firm and threatening. 

"Okay, I'm sorry," Harry conceded, backing down. "I understand that you intend to be inducted into the Order of Acolytes, yes?"

Hermione huffed. " _Seriously!?_ Enola can't keep any secrets, can she?"

"No, she's rubbish at that," Harry laughed. "But she's not the guilty party this time. I went to see Narcissa, didn't I? She told me about your request ... it's protocol. I have to approve all applicants these days before they can be permitted join the Order."

"And do you approve of _me_?"

"Well, I had to think a lot about it," said Harry, seriously. "Just to be sure, you know?"

Hermione swatted playfully at his arm. "You're walking a _very_ fine line, Mr Potter!"

"Of course I approve of you," Harry grinned, turning her back around and cuddling her close. "You're good enough for my _Mum_ , for crying out loud. Who am I to argue with a validation like _that_?"

Hermione snuggled back into Harry's chest. "So, you accepted my application?"

"I did," Harry confirmed. "Narcissa is sceptical, because she hasn't had a chance to properly assess you herself yet, but you have that joy to come!"

"I cant wait," Hermione huffed.

"You'll warm up to her," Harry told her, confidently. "You need to just look past the Malfoy in her and you'll get along fine."

"So, what's _she_ got to do with you finally letting me come to your bed?" Hermione demanded.

"Several things," Harry began. "The first one is that any potential wife of mine will be _expected_ to be a part of my defensive Order ... in fact, to be the chief of it as my _Qu_ _een."_

"Tick," Hermione smirked, making the action with her fingers.

"And then," Harry continued. "Narcissa will ready you as part of the preparation for another ritual I've been building for you ... one that we can only do once you've had your induction. There's complex magic involved, that you will need to have reached a certain state of receptiveness to be able to handle and absorb, if you're still willing by then, of course."

Hermione turned her head and looked up at Harry. There was something in his tone that had stirred in her, setting her eyes on fire as her loins perked up in cautious hope.

"Does it involve sex?" she asked, unhinged passion in her voice. "Please tell me that this is a sex ritual ... that you're planning to do _ritual sex magic_ on me ... pretty, _pretty_ please?"

Harry laughed out loud. "What the actual fuck, Hermione?"

"What?" she asked, unabashed. "I know that's what it is, I can feel it in your magic. And you have no _idea_ how much I want you to confirm it. Please say I'm right. It's _ages_ since I've had something to look forward to ... and I wont be able to sleep if I know something like _that_ is on the horizon! I'll be far too excited."

"Then maybe I should reconsider," Harry teased. "I don't want you peaking too soon, or being too tired to be a part of it. Maybe I'll drop the idea!"

"No you bloody wont!" Hermione shrieked. "So, is it a sex ritual?"

Harry gave in and sighed. "Yes ... yes it is."

Hermione actuallysquealed. "Oh my word! Is it my birthday or ... or Christmas? On the same day? _Ritual sex magic!_ Are there books involved? Tell me there are books involved. Can you _make_ books involved, even if they wouldn't normally be? What's the ritual, then?"

"I'm still working on it," Harry chuckled, before adding sheepishly. "Don't forget ... I've never done anything like this before. This is new magic for me, too. I mean, it's _all_ new to me, isn't it, with or without the magic. But if I turn out to be a crap shag, at least the myriad of spells I have lined up for you will make up for my poor performance. That bit I can get right, at least."

Hermione turned to face Harry. Then kissed him powerfully on the mouth.

"You will _not_ be a crap shag," Hermione told him supportively, as they finally broke apart. "I'm confident that it will be incredible from our first time, but if we find ways to make it even better, we'll practise as often as possible until we make it _perfect_. We will be the best sexual partners ... _for each other_. We are such a perfect match in every other way that we might as well have been designed for one another. This will just be another expression of that. Possibly the most _passionate_ expression. I'm going to do such pleasurable things to you, Harry ... I hope you don't have any boundaries to being driven wild ... because I'm breaking through them no matter what you have to say about it! 

"Holy hell, Harry ... we are going to make the most _explosive_ love ever recorded!"

Harry grinned all the way up to his eye. "I think I can be part of something like _that!_ Probably. Anyway, I have to get the space just right, so you'll have to cool your horny jets for a little while longer. You've seen what my emotions can do to the house as it is. I have to prepare the ritual space to absorb a whole other level of passion for when I invite you _really_ close."

"We're going to have our first time together in the Ritual Chamber?" Hermione questioned, her eyes swimming with fervour. "Wont it be a bit uncomfortable?"

"It would be," Harry agreed. "But I'm actually in the process of converting my bedroom for the ritual. After all, it will be _our_ bedroom soon enough ... and it will have to be able to withstand whatever we throw at it, however often you do me the honour of making love to me in there. I'm hoping that will be _frequently_ , by the way. Just saying. When I'm done, I think it will be at least three times more powerful than my chamber downstairs. I just hope it'll be enough!" 

"Sweet baby _Merlin_!" Hermione swooned, dreamily.

"But, in any case, the ritual I'm designing isn't just about the sex, that's merely the sealant," Harry went on.

"And what will we be sealing?"

"Our promises to one another," said Harry. "Once you become an Acolyte of St David, you can be formally nominated as my future consort ... essentially entering us into an exclusive betrothal period. It's niggling bits of old protocol of that sort that the Knights demand, but we have to do that before we can ritually seal our marriage. If we _don't_ , they can Object, the Bond of Matrimony wont settle on us properly and the rite will fail. I don't want that to happen.

"The words alone will be wonderful enough ... but I want to join with you completely _,_ in every way that we can. You deserve the best wedding, and this _is_ the best to be had. The wedding night ritual will be the declaration of us giving up to each other utterly and wholly, adding a physical union to all our emotional and magical ones. It's a permanent bond, one not to be taken lightly ... and one I've only ever wanted to enter into with _you_."

"Are you trying to make me cry?" asked Hermione, breathlessly. She kissed Harry deeply again. "Is that the sort of marriage Enola and Neville had? Did they have to wait until their wedding night, too?"

"Oh no, have you _seen_ their passion when they're together? A herd of wild hippogriffs couldn't have kept their hands off each other!" Harry laughed. "But I did make them abstain for a month in advance of the wedding day."

"Was that necessary?" Hermione quirked, the corners of her mouth curling up at Harry's mischievous tone.

"No, not at all, but it was funny as hell!" Harry grinned devilishly. "You should have seen them! They were walking around like wound-up horny teenagers with no way to release. By the middle of the last week I almost gave in, because poor Ennie was practically climbing the walls.!"

"Oh Harry! You're _terrible!_ " Hermione giggled.

"I know. But I paid for it later."

"Why, what happened?"

"They'd been het-up for so long that the intensity of their love-making on the wedding night was so ferocious it caused a minor earthquake on the grounds," said Harry, chortling at the memory. "The problem was that, at the time, their suite was above The Warrens ... that's where all the elves live ... and the babies were so scared that they had to stay in my room for a month, where my magic made them feel safe. So I had to babysit ten little elves until they were happy enough to return to their homes. I never thought I'd get another night's sleep with so many raucous elf-children biting my ankles!"

Hermione laughed. "Serves you right! Poor Nev and Ennie. Was Sally one of the baby elves?"

"Sally was my favourite," Harry replied. "She was one of the oldest, and helped me with the others."

Hermione's expression paled. "She almost died, Harry. She shouldn't have come to help me ... I don't know of any good enough thanks to offer her that she might accept."

"It's not _thanks_ the elves are after," said Harry. "It's love and respect. In their culture, there is nothing more important than family. Being part of one, and contributing positively to it, is almost like a warrior code to them. I know you always saw them as slaves to be freed, but that's not quite right. Some are, obviously, but they take on tasks for us because being thought of as a respected member of the family ... and helping others _earns_ that respect ... is as high-status as it gets in their society."

Hermione considered that a moment. "And, I suppose, if they can help certain witches and wizards ... ones that their culture values as important or revered ... it garners yet more respect from their peers?"

"Exactly. Which was why Sally was so excited when I assigned her to you."

"To your _most favouritest witch_ ," Hermione tittered in sing-song voice, smiling shyly.

"I never made much of a secret of that, did I?" Harry replied, brightly.

"No, but it's very adorable that you didn't!" Hermione laughed. "At least you didn't stop everyone else around here from telling me that you loved me, even if you took so bloody long to say it yourself. Poor Sally ... do you think she will be okay?"

"I've no doubt," said Harry. "Elves are remarkable creatures, very resilient, too. And Sally is very taken with you. I think she sees you as a big sister-type, so going to your aid wasn't even a question in her mind. She's quite possessive of you, in case you haven't noticed. She cant stomach the idea of letting any other elf have her job, so she was determined to make sure that she recovered just fine."

"But you couldn't reattach her arm?"

Harry sighed heavily. "Sadly, no. These Dark Curses carry such evil intent, Hermione. You aren't supposed to survive them, and if you _do,_ it comes at a cost. Sally was only clipped by the curse, but the effect is the same. The wound resists conventional Healing, but you aren't meant to heal from _death_. I'm living proof of that." 

Harry waved his hand blithely at his ruined face, as Hermione swallowed with the horror of the idea.

"Is that what that is? Why _you_ can't be healed?" asked Hermione, frowning.

"Yeah," said Harry, nodding and scratching the back of his head awkwardly. "Tom Riddle's acidic evil swims around in that lovely scar of mine to this very day. It repels any attempt to close it up. And we've tried _everything_ , even Muggle stitches. It just _melted_ them. We ... er ... even tried to staple it shut once, but the same thing happened."

"You did _what!?"_ Hermione cried, horrorstruck. "Oh Harry ... don't tell me that! I don't want to even picture it!"

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I was desperate," Harry mumbled, apologetically. "Remember, there's no block for Avada Kedavra. The same malevolence which would have killed anyone else, has left me forever wrecked and tainted."

"Let me see it."

"You've already seen it," said Harry, somewhat defensively. Hermione's bossy turn of tone had make him oddly nervous.

"I want to have a proper look. I want to see this evil up close, to analyse it critically."

"But why?"

Hermione huffed determinedly at Harry. "Because ... if something evil _gave_ you this pain, then I'm going to find a way for my _love_ to take it away again. I swear to you I'll find a solution, Harry."

Harry sucked in a rapid breath, startled at Hermione's sudden ferocity. "That's a cute idea, Hermione, but I ... I'm not sure that's how this works."

"Well, of course it is," said Hermione, disagreeing confidently. "Everything has an opposite, Harry. Night and day ... hot and cold ... Ginny Weasley and good-looking witches! If these evil curses exist, then there must be a form of magic to _counteract_ them, fuelled by comparable-level goodness. Even magic has to have balance to work."

Harry pondered that a moment. "If that was true, surely somebody would have worked it out before now."

"Not necessarily," said Hermione, fairly. "I mean ... until you, nobody had survived Avada Kedavra, had they? There wasn't anything to study, to analyse. But now, we have our first test case ... _you!_ You are _Patient Zero_ , Harry! Why hasn't anyone ever put you under proper scrutiny before, taken a really close look at the magic you survived for all they could have learned from it?

"Well, now I have my chance to get on the case now ... and I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm astonishingly clever! So if such counter magic doesn't exist to heal you, we'll just have to invent it!"

"Astonishing _and_ clever," Harry corrected with a wink, trying his very best not to allow himself to hope in the face of Hermione's earnest promise.

"Harry ..." Hermione blushed. "What I mean is, if anyone can work this out, it will be us _._ We don't often fail in things we tackle together, do we?"

"It's not a habit of ours, I'll give you that."

"And I swear to you that I wont be bested by Tom Riddle's evil where you are concerned," said Hermione, staunchly. "It's a case of my love versus his hate at this point ... and I can guarantee which one will win out, which one is stronger. And it wont be _his_."

Harry just stared at her a moment, his heart thundering beneath his ribs. "Hermione ... that's what my parents said ... when they were protecting me from Riddle!"

Hermione moved her hands up to cup Harry's head in her palms. She understood the sudden, humble turn of his emotion, and moved to soothe his anxiety, this constant doubt that he didn't deserve all this wonderful emotion that she was determined to lavish upon him.

"I know ... and I mean it just as much as they did. It puts me in exalted company, doesn't it?" she breathed softly.

Did she really mean that, mean all of these incredible things that she was saying and suggesting? Harry could scarcely believe it. He tried to say something, made several false starts on sentences he that simply couldn't form.

Hermione watched him struggle with a little smile, so adoringly cute that Harry physically ached at the sight. So he took to just looking at her instead, pushing his emotion out with all he had, hoping it would communicate just some of the million things we wanted to say to her, but just couldn't get out of his strangled throat in any language that he might have known.

It seemed to work.

"I know, I know," Hermione whispered to him gently, running her fingers caressingly through his tangled hair.

Hermione thought that she ought to have felt distraught over the fact that Harry had never felt such intense emotion before, that this was all so new to him that he had no way of describing it to her. But the fact that she had _inspired_ his wonderment, and that he would have to discover a new form of expression if he ever wanted to tell her all about it, so that she would be the _first_ person he could ever make such an outpouring to, just made Hermione's heart throb so fiercely for him that it drove away any sense of pity she might have felt.

But she wasn't to be so easily swayed by such musings, no matter how light-headed they made her. "So ... let me see your scar."

Harry tensed. "Not today. Please? It's been a few days since it was cleaned properly. It's even more unpleasant than normal just now. I'm waiting for Enola to be done checking up on Angharad, then she can clean me up."

"Angharad is awake?" Hermione quizzed. "How is she?"

"We aren't sure," Harry confessed. "She says she's fine, but we're not convinced. There's something that doesn't feel right, so Ennie and her Mum are doing some more tests on Ann. Then she can clean me up."

"Harry ... care of you scar is my job now," Hermione told him firmly. "I told you that. And we have to let me have my first try at some point. If I get Ennie to observe us, will you let me try and clean your scar for you today?"

"Hermione ... it's me at my most disgusting. I really don't want you to see me like that."

"And I really don't care about your silly pride!" Hermione scoffed. "If you'll let Enola see you in that condition, then you'll let me see you like it, too."

"It's not just that," Harry confessed, guiltily. "Treating my scar is ... well ... it's a painful experience for me. Even Ennie, who I only allow to do it because she's so aware and precise, hurts me very badly when her magic touches me.

"And, no matter how much you try to the contrary, _yours_ will do the same. I don't want you to see that, or to be horrified by the effect that your magic will have on me. It wont be easy for you to keep your wand steady, if you get so fraught that you have to cause me pain to soothe me ... and you might end up hurting me _m_ _ore."_

Hermione gasped in her horror. "Is it really that bad? And you've been keeping that fact from me?"

Harry stared at her incredulously. "You cant think I'm at fault for not telling you? Don't you think it's reasonable that I don't want you to know how much I suffer ... to save you from worrying about me if you did know?"

"I'm going to be your wife, Harry ... there wont be any secrets between us. I can accept that you let Enola do this for you before, but now only I get to be so intimate with you. This isn't up for debate ... I've decided for you. I'm going to learn Ennie's technique, and then your care belongs to _me_... from now until the day you're all healed again!"

Harry sighed with a defeated grin. "You're so bossy! It might be my favourite side of you, or maybe it's your academic curiosity. It makes you so passionate, and I've always loved how it stirs your fervour."

" _You_ stir my fervour more than anything _!_ ," Hermione corrected him. "And I've made being stirred by you a lifetime habit! So, come on, let's go and see Ennie."

"I think we should wait for her," said Harry. "Angharad's wounds require really delicate attention, so I don't want to accidentally disturbing them. You should know the risks of this particular curse ... after all, the _Dolohov Hex_ is something you are intimately familiar with."

"Fucking hell ... is _that_ what she was hit with!?" Hermione yelped, aghast.

Harry nodded. "It left a massive purple scorch scar across her chest. It would easily have killed her without the protective spells on her robe. I don't think I've come across a more potent curse than that outside of Avada Kedavra. Myfanwy is borderline mental over it, obviously. Poor girl ... I might have to take her into ritual to ease her mind if she doesn't calm down soon."

"Can I help?"

Harry pierced her with a shrewd stare. "Not with the ritual. It's better for it to be a one-on-one thing. Not that I think Fan will agree willingly. She's stubborn as an ox. But you could help with the spell deconstruction."

"Deconstruction?"

"There is a way to put a spell under a magical microscope, so to speak," Harry explained. "You can find its component parts, then use the knowledge of them to come up with a method to treat the damage more effectively."

"How will we do that, without that bastard here to rip his magic out of?"

"The runes on Ann's robe will still have the residue of the hex in them," Harry elaborated. "We can draw it out and try to understand its composition, what it's intended to do. You were hit with it when we were younger, so we could even draw your memory to study the after effects, if you don't have a problem sharing your mind with me, of course!"

Hermione bit her lip shyly. "You want to see my memories of the time after ... after the fight at the Department of Mysteries?"

"Is there some reason that you'd rather I didn't?" Harry asked with cautious concern. "You sound like there is _."_

"Well, no ... it's just that," Hermione began, awkwardly.

Then her words tailed off and she looked away in shame.

"What is it?" Harry asked, gently. He'd hit a tender nerve it would seem. "Is there something about that time that you don't want me to see? I don't remember anything that you might want to keep from me. But, to be fair, I was distraught about Sirius. I wasn't at my most perceptive back then."

"It's silly, really," Hermione began, shyly. "It's just that ... after that night at the Ministry, when I nearly died ... I had to look my feelings for you in the face properly for the first time. I'd been avoiding how they had been growing for a good couple of years by that point, which direction they were heading where you were concerned. But that year, it was getting harder and harder to ignore them. Especially as you'd starting noticing other girls. I _really_ didn't like that, by the way, but what did it mean ... for me ... for _us_?

"Then I almost died for you, so I had to rationalise the seriousness of that in my mind, while at the same time trying to understand why I knew that I'd do it again without even thinking about it. It was a scary time for me, and I spent the entire Summer just fretting over the whole thing. I just didn't know what I was going to do."

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I never knew ... never thought ..."

"Oh, Harry, don't be daft!" said Hermione, hotly. "You'd just seen Sirius, your only living relative, your chance of a happy future, die at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange! Your mind wasn't on anything _but_ that. My selfish, adolescent worries about what I might feel for you was rightly amongst the last things for you to be concerned over."

"Hippogriff shit!" Harry countered. "If I had known that you felt like _that,_ maybe I could have sought some comfort it ... found solace from the closest person to family I still had. From the girl I intend to make a family with now. I was in a pretty bleak place myself, with only another stint in the hell of Privet Drive to keep me company. I could have used a bit of positivity."

"Would that have helped, do you think?" asked Hermione, quietly. "To have me around?"

Harry shook his head in wonder at her. "How can you even ask me that? You have no idea, do you, not even the faintest clue of the _peace_ you bring me? Peace, Hermione ... in a life of war and conflict. Just having you near me makes me feel ... well, all sorts of things, really. You stir me in so many ways I don't think we have the time to list them all! Right now, a lot of them need to be necessarily dark and violent, I can't apologise for that, but when it's all over, I'm just going to bask in you, drown in the way you calm me.

"And if I'd had you to lean on during the Summer after Sirius ... well, maybe I could have coped with his loss a little better than I did. I wouldn't have had to face that misery alone. And I would have leaned on you, because back then I was a selfish and coarse little savage, and I'd have taken everything you could give me and not shown an ounce of appreciation for any of it."

"Is this the same _you_ we're talking about?" Hermione argued lightly. "The boy who only ever gave ... who was even prepared to give his life to save everyone else?"

"But I didn't give a second thought to how _you_ were doing that Summer, did I?" Harry volleyed back. "When you were worthy of being my first, second _and_ third thought. You, who had been the worst injured of all of us that night, who needed ten potions a day just to stabilise your condition. You, who had been _totally right_ about the whole thing being a trap laid for me by Riddle? I didn't even apologise to you for what happened, or even have the guts to admit that you were right. I don't know what I thought you were doing that Summer, whether I simply decided that you were just taking your pain potions and getting better or what, but I didn't show you any sort of concern, when you deserved equally as much as I was giving to Sirius and my grief. 

"But why don't you want me to see what you were actually doing?"

Hermione bit down on her lip again. "Because it was that Summer that I decided to pull away from you. I don't know if I convinced myself that you wouldn't return my feelings ... or if I was actually afraid of what it would mean if you did. Both outcomes were equally terrifying. My solution was to distance myself from you. I don't know ... I suppose I just don't want you to see a version of me where I was actively trying not to love you. You don't want me to see your scars, Harry ... and I _never_ want to risk you getting another one on account of _me._ "

"Is that what this is about?" Harry whispered, softly. "You're trying to protect me?"

"You've been denied love, Harry, when you deserve so much!" Hermione cried, passionately. "I intend to give you all you'll ever need, but I don't want you to think that there was ever a time when I was trying so desperately to do the exact opposite. _"_

Harry grinned at her. "Ah, I see. You just don't want me to see you _failing at something!_ "

Hermione flushed, and flapped her mouth open and closed a few times. "Well, that's not what I ... oh Harry, you're such a tease! ... but I suppose I did fail at it, didn't I?"

"And I'm extremely happy that you did," Harry laughed. "It's not often that I like to see you fail, but in this case you were spectacularly rubbish! I think a bit of failure is very good for you ... it keeps you modest!"

"Shut up, Harry!" Hermione admonished, good-naturedly. "Okay, fine. I'll let you draw my memories. Just don't think badly of me when you see them."


	25. Trespasses Against Us

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry was deeply angry.

He was angry because he was suspicious, and suspicion always fuelled the rage constantly swirling just below his surface. But more than that, he was angry at _being_ angry. Things had been starting to go their way; there was artistry in Harry's demolition of the Hengest Camp, and he thoroughly enjoyed his interrogation of Terry Boot. And the freeing of the wretched souls imprisoned at Hengest had been a such an uplifting experience that Harry had actually allowed himself to enjoy the role of Great Liberator, that they had bestowed upon him just a few days ago, when he paid a visit to the ever-expanding village of escapees that was blossoming on his estate.

But now he was back to being angry again.

Because whatever Neville was about to say to him was bound to be infuriating. It was also bound to be negatively slanted towards Hermione. Neville would never have refused Harry's inclination to summon her so pointedly if it wasn't, as he'd done barely ten minutes ago, when he came to fetch Harry to break this news to him. He was about to tell Harry something that he thought Hermione ought not to know, which was pretty naive of Neville ... for whatever it was, the first thing Harry intended to do was tell Hermione all about it.

For he had decided to keep only the most delicate of secrets from her now, and even this was only to buy him enough time to find the best way to break those to her eventually, too.

But he had to learn what this new devilry was first. Neville was in a hurry, and Harry had to practically jog to keep up with him. And he wouldn't answer Harry's repeated queries as to where they were going and what was happening. This thing, it seemed, was something Harry had to see for himself.

And what this suggested simply made him even angrier.

Neville paused at the door to a room two floors below the surface. It was near the Resonator Stone at the very center of the palace. It was here that the ley lines converged, where the wards at the boundary of the grounds drew and renewed their energy from. It was also the place where Harry could tap into the natural energy of magic, that criss-crossed Great Britain like a giant, super-charged spider's web, and put it to whatever use he chose for it.

Neville drew his wand and traced out the special access rune to open the door, a secret that only he and Harry knew about. Harry made a mental note to show Hermione what it was later, before following Neville inside. The room was gloomy, curved in shape, with only one piece of furniture inside ... a table shaped a little bit like a boomerang. Twelve milky orbs, about the size of footballs and glowing with their own subtle light, lined the table. They emitted a barely-audible hum, that infused the room with a weird, sonic-like charge.

"Nev?" Harry queried as he shut the door. "What's going on?"

"We had an alarm trigger at the ward boundary," said Neville, joining Harry near the line of orbs. "I sent a team to investigate. What they found was worrying."

"Go on."

"It wasn't a physical intrusion," said Neville. "It was magical. Someone was testing the boundary."

"Attacking it?" asked Harry, confused and angry. He would have felt any assault on the ward shield. His magic was intimately tied to the protective barrier.

"No, it wasn't attacking," said Neville. "The spells were exploratory. The caster moved along the perimeter, from one random spot to the next. The monitoring stones recorded it all. Harry ... we think someone is trying to _map_ the border."

Harry swore violently. "How is that possible? They shouldn't be able to know where we are."

Neville gulped. He didn't seem to want to say this. "There's only one, real way. I think we both know that. We must have taken someone in ... someone they can trace."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. His breath came in angry rasps.

"They can't pinpoint us directly," Harry seethed, as his furious air began flowing out of him in dense waves. "But if they can get a general idea of location, they can test the resistance to their magic and effectively draw the outline of our boundary. Is that what this looks like?"

Neville nodded. "They'll never breach the wards, though, will they?"

"No, but there are other ways to attack us," Harry replied. "We know the Death Eaters been experimenting with weather modification, with tapping into geological faults. We aren't immune to that sort of assault."

"Then the solution is clear ... we have to identify the signal, see who they are tracking and remove them."

Harry rounded on Neville, angrily. "So what, you want me to send Hermione away, so they cant use Ron's connection to her to find us? Or Luna, maybe ... throw her right back to Draco so he can finish her off for good? Is that what you're saying?"

"No, don't be so bloody stupid!" Neville huffed. "But there's a reality here that you don't seem to want to confront. And, before you jump down my throat again, this is _Hermione's_ suggestion, not just mine."

Harry huffed calm into himself. He had to stop lashing out. "Sorry. I'm just pissed. Can't even enjoy a victory for five minutes it seems. What are you talking about anyway? What's Hermione been suggesting?"

"Several things, but the main one is that this link Ron has to her has all the potential needed to be followed right to us, or close enough," Neville explained. "She said as much to Ennie the other day. This is just proof of it. What _I'm_ saying is that whoever this is that is trying to survey us, they need to be found and stopped as a matter of urgency."

Harry took several deep, steadying breaths, then his eyes shot open in understanding. "Wait ... are you saying they are here _now?_ "

Neville nodded. "The problem is we cant see them ... they aren't staying in one place long enough. And the only visual we have shows nothing. They must be cloaking themselves somehow. You need to use the Stones, Harry."

Harry wasted no time. He span away from Neville and cast his hand over each of the stones in turn, quietening his mind as he did so. He found it surprisingly easy, considering his fury. It seemed that identifying threats to Hermione was actually a powerful way to focus his thoughts.

"There!" Neville cried suddenly.

Harry looked to his left. One of the orbs had lost its milky colour. Instead, it was a swirling mass of blurry images. Harry swept to it and drew his wand. He cast a silent spell at the stone, analysing the information that came back at him ... it didn't improve his mood.

"Well? Any idea who we are dealing with?" Neville pushed.

Harry turned and swore in his anger. "It's Percy _fucking_ Weasley!"

Neville guffawed. "I never did know his middle name. Are they actually thick, sending a Weasley here?"

"It makes sense, Nev," Harry hissed. "Those tracking spells Ron hit Hermione with ... they have the stench of the Weasley signature all over them. It wouldn't surprise me if was a _family_ spell. Old Percy would know the vibrational frequency to look out for."

Harry was hit with the sickening image of Hermione's name being next to Ron's on that old clock that Molly Weasley used to have in her kitchen at The Burrow. _This_ must have been the spell that told the clock how the family members were doing.

"Wait ... would that mean that _any_ Weasley could tap into the connection?" Neville asked in his bitter horror.

"Probably," Harry bitched. "They could then easily pick up on it with the right locator spell. Hell, it might even make the restriction curses on Hermione that much stronger, if the other members of the family were feeding their own magic into it, too."

"Carrot-topped cunts," Neville riled, angrily. "That means Min isn't safe, so long as there is a Weasley out there with enough reason to give her away."

"Pretty much," said Harry bitterly. "Have you started calling her _Min_ , too? I can never tell if she likes that. She doesn't seem to."

"I've just picked up the habit from Enola," said Neville. "I suppose I should have asked first but the deed is done."

"I don't think I could get used to it," said Harry. He tried it out a few times. "Min ... Min ... Minny ... hmmm, I don't know. It feels a bit like talking to old Professor McGonagall, not that I ever used her first name, let alone a contraction. That would be weird enough as it is. But Hermione might like the comparison ... she never said as much, but I always got the feeling that McGonagall was her favourite teacher at school. No, I think I'll just stick to regular old Hermione ... I've got no problem wrapping my tongue around that!"

Neville smirked. "Yeah, tell me something I don't know, you sly old bastard! You just want to call her Mrs Potter, or Lady Potter, or Queen Potter, or whatever."

"Now _that_ I could get used to!"

"What the fuck are we talking about?!" cried Neville. "Harry ... you do realise what this means?"

"What?

"It means that we might have to erase the _entire_ Weasley clan from the face of the Earth, just to keep our witches safe!"

"Doesn't seem such a hardship," said Harry, breezily. "They always were a fucking disgrace to the pantheon of Ancient and Noble Houses. Lucius Malfoy got that much right, at least. Bunch of fucking gypsies. They were a shame to the name of wizard ... we'd be doing the magical world a service it didn't know it needed!"

"Then let's start now," said Neville. "Feel up to a spot of Weasley-hunting?"

"Always, and I never did like Percy," Harry mused. "He always was a bit of a cancerous haemorrhoid on the anus of humanity. I owe him for siding with Umbridge when she tried to make my life a misery back at Hogwarts."

"But how are we going to find him?" Neville asked, as Harry led them away from the monitoring station.

"There's only one way," Harry replied, grimly. "And it might earn me a slap just for suggesting it."

"Suggesting what?" 

"Suggesting that we _use_ one Weasley to find another," Harry explained. "I'm gambling that Hermione was made a part of this family spell when she married Ron. She might be able to use it to help us find Percy more quickly. But I have to remind her that _technically_ she is still a Weasley."

"Rather you than me!" Neville snorted. "I'd sooner flick a lion in the love spuds with a wet towel than stoke Hermione's bad side on purpose!"

"You and me both, Lord Longbottom, you and me both!" Harry laughed. "Rhian!"

The Head Elf popped next to Harry as he and Neville strode briskly along the corridor. "Yes, Master Harry?"

"How's Sally?" Harry asked, as Rhian hurried along beside him.

"Improving, Master Harry," the elf replied, cheerfully. "She be doing one-armed handstands before we knows it! Does Mistress Hermione need something?"

"No, I don't think so ... at least she doesn't _feel_ like she does from here ... but I need _her_. Lord Longbottom and I are heading to my Ritual Chamber. Can you bring Hermione to me there, please?"

"Does she need battle dress?" asked Rhian, suspiciously.

"Oh no, there'll be no need for that," Harry replied. "But she will need her wand."

"Yes Master," said Rhian, and she popped away. Harry watched as Neville Apparated away, gave it five seconds and followed suit himself.

* * *

Hermione’s first inkling that something was wrong came when the air around her shifted and tautened. It pressed on her chest like a heavy fog, and she put down her tea cup a little bit too firmly, spilling some of the liquid into her saucer.

Susan Bones, who was sat opposite her, looked up in alarm.

“Hermione? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine … but _Harry’s_ not.,” Hermione replied with a little frown. “He’s not happy about something.”

“How can you tell?” asked Luna, who was knelt in front of Susan and allowing her to twist pretty braids into her newly regrown hair, while little Celesca watched and gave her opinions on her mother’s new look.

“The energy of the air just changed, and quite abruptly,” Hermione explained in concern. “Something’s happening.”

“I cant feel anything,” said Sue, moving her head as if trying to catch a faint scent on the air.

“Nor me,” Luna agreed.

“Don’t worry, Miss Hermione,” Celesca chipped in with a cute smile. “I can feel it, too. So you aren’t just making it up.”

“Thank you,” Hermione grinned at the little girl. “What is it that you feel? Can you describe it to your Mum and Sue?”

“The air’s just heavier,” Celesca replied, blithely. “It always goes like that when Mr Harry is worried or angry. In fact, it’s _mostly_ like that, but I like it better when it isn’t. Do you think you could tell him, Miss Hermione? Tell him to make it nicer all the time?”

“I can try,” Hermione chuckled. “But Harry is … well … _complicated_. He isn’t always in control of his emotions.”

“But it seems _you_ are,” Sue smirked. “How can you feel his emotions on the air?”

“The very bricks and mortar of the house are full of spells and enchantments,” Hermione explained. “They carry links right back to Harry’s own energy, so he knows everything that goes on around here, but the effect goes the other way, too. So when his emotions spike, the house reflects to change that. The enchantments are attuned to Harry, and now _I_ am attuned to him, too … so I can feel them as well.”

“And you can tell that he isn’t happy about something?” Luna queried. Hermione nodded in reply. “Then you should go to him, see what’s the matter.”

“No, if it’s important he’ll come to me,” Hermione told her, confidently. “Besides, I want to stay. We’re just getting started here.”

Hermione let her pointed words hang in the air. For the three witches had been discussing some of the more difficult recent events in their lives, and attention was just about to turn to Susan and her episode in the palace infirmary.

“You’re both still so raw and fragile,” Hermione went on. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I think it might be better that way,” Luna disagreed in a small voice. “Don’t forget … we have this in common.”

Luna looked down with a sad sort of smile at her daughter, who was absently playing with the many coloured bows and ribbons that Luna had decided against for her hair decoration.

“Yes, I see that,” Hermione muttered in response. “But they ways you both dealt with that is worlds apart!”

“Look, girls, you’re going about this all wrong,” Susan interjected. Her voice seemed almost hollow in it’s firmness, and she picked at a loose thread in the armrest of her chair as she spoke. “I know what you think … that I’m in some sort of shock or something, but you’ve got that quite wrong.”

“Sue, I know what you must be going through,” Luna persevered from her place on the floor. “I was _there_ … I felt what you felt.”

“Maybe, but it’s like Min said … a world of difference in how we reacted,” Sue fired back.

“You still need to face it,” Luna replied. “One way or another. You’re a good person, Sue … and this will eat you up if you don’t confront it.”

Susan huffed, almost angrily. “Right, we do this once then I’m done, okay? I didn’t _want_ it, not even a tiny bit. I didn’t even see it as a kid … it was just another extension of _him_. I didn’t see it as part of me, and I wanted no part of _it_. I was just a surrogate for his seed. When Harry came for me, I thought it was done, that Blaise couldn’t hurt me anymore. I felt a bit of closure for that … and Harry did the physical revenge that I couldn’t manage.

“But then I wake up to _that_ news. All I could think of was that it was like a tumour growing in me, a cancer, another way for Blaise to continue his dominion over me. His spawn would make me sick, steal my energy and sustenance, kick me whether in waking or sleep. Then I’d have to raise the thing, seeing those features that I hated so much looking back at me, ruining the rest of my life. It might even have grown up to want revenge on _me_.

“So no, girls, I have no regrets. I know what happened at the infirmary was instinctive, reactionary to the news, and that you think I’ll live to regret it. But you’re wrong.

“Believe me, the only difference if I’d known for longer would be that I’d have done it _sooner_ … and if the thing had smashed my fanny to bits on the way out of me, I’d have smothered the damn thing the first chance I got. I’d have rather died then bear Blaise’s child. Judge me all you want, but that’s the truth.

“You once warned me, Min, that I couldn’t hold out forever and not give him a child. You were wrong, because I hoped that the world would come to it’s senses before then, and if it didn’t, I’d have slit my own throat the moment I turned Thirty. You can look as shocked as you like … but I _know_ that you’d have done exactly the same, if it came to the choice of death or having babies with Ron. And you know it, too.”

Hermione had a whole raft of arguments ready to throw back, but each and every one died in her throat. The forceful truth of Susan’s words found a reflection in her own mind … and she knew that as well as her old friend did. All she could do was nod and accept the reasoning, as the logic of it resonated so powerfully with her. Susan turned to look at Luna just then.

“I don’t want to sound like I’m judging you, Lu,” Susan went on. “Your daughter seems to be a lovely little girl, but we all suffered in different ways. I’m not saying mine and Min’s was better or worse, but it was more visceral, more sustained. What happened to you was horrendous, especially given your age, and I know your anxiety over what might have happened must have been so hard for you. We all had a different sort of hell.

“But Min and I were getting battered around on a weekly or daily basis. I couldn’t see past that, and I saw no part of myself in the child I was carrying. I hope you can understand that, and what I did.”

Hermione sighed as Luna took a moment to consider her reply. “It looks like you’re the best of the lot of us, Lu. You were able to look past the hate and hurt and see the positive beyond, to give the innocence a chance. I envy that you could do that, I really do.”

Luna went to respond but was distracted by the emergence of Rhian as the Head Elf popped into view.

“Rhian? What is it?” Hermione asked in alarm. “Does Harry need something?”

“Master Harry be asking the exact same thing about yous, my Mistress, before saying anything else,” Rhian replied in a shrewd tone. “Rhian have to be getting used to be always knowing how yous both be!”

Hermione coloured a little a that. “So, does Harry _want_ something, then?”

“Yes, Mistress, he be wanting _yous_ ,” the elf replied.

“Keep it clean, Min!” Susan teased as Hermione stood up, making a face by way of reply.

Next thing she knew, Hermione was being elf-Apparated to Harry’s side, in the dark of his Ritual Chamber. Neville was there, too, and they were surrounded by a swirling grey mist. Rhian didn't re-emerge with her.

"What is it?" she asked firmly. "Rhian made it sound urgent."

"Percy Weasley is trying to map the border to the palace," said Harry, bluntly. "And he's using Ron's connection to you as a focal point."

"He's doing _what_?" Hermione cried, fraught with anxiety in a flash. "Well, that's urgent. That pissing family, honest to god ..."

"Neville and I were just considering making a covenant to wipe them from existence," said Harry. "Wondered if you fancied in on it?"

"Damn bloody right I do," said Hermione, staunchly. "What do you need me to do?"

"You're not going to like me asking this," Harry warned her.

"Will it hurt?" Hermione asking, quirking an eyebrow.

"Only to your pride," Harry smirked. "But it might hurt _me_ more than you. I have to insult you, and if you hex me for it I'd really have no recourse to complain."

"Out with it, Harry," Hermione huffed.

"Percy can tap into the frequency of the magical connection Ron has with you," said Harry. "It has a Weasley signature ... and I'm theorising that the whole _family_ has a connection to it, to you, since your marriage. I was thinking ... and this is the part where you might rightly try to hex me ... that as _technically_ you're still a Weasley, maybe you could access it going the other way, allowing us to locate Percy."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry!" Hermione cried, wearing the biggest scowl Harry had ever known her to. "You really want to wound me with that insult, don't you?"

"I'm sorry. I don't like you being part of the Big Happy Weasley clan anymore than you do, but we need to use it now."

"Bollocks," Hermione huffed. "Fine. What do you need me to do?"

"Percy is hiding from us," Harry explained. "Either by magical concealment or by using a garment like an Invisibility Cloak. I need you to focus your mind, calm it, block out all sounds and thoughts ... even your crossness with me! Start by focusing on the energy of the room, you've done that before, open your mind and let it link to you. Then just try to pick out any other energy sources that are doing the same."

"Will I feel yours?" asked Hermione, smirking at him.

"Obviously," said Harry. "But ignore that for now. We need the direction the Weasley signal is coming from."

"Fine. I'll try ... but I'm not happy about this, Harry. Pretending I'm a Weasley ... how disgusting! You'll owe me a _lot_ of kisses to cleanse me of this poison, you know."

"Well, it's better than a kick to the gonads!" Harry grinned. "Now, concentrate."

"I'm trying!" Hermione snapped. "Do you have any idea how intense _your_ connection to me is? It's practically _cocooning_ me! It's hard to focus on anything _but_ that right now. I might have seen it as a bit creepy ... if it didn't feel so incredible to have your energy around me like this!"

"Sorry," said Harry, slightly affronted.

"Don't pout, it doesn't suit you," said Hermione, bossily. She scrunched up her eyes as Harry frowned at her. "I love that, by the way. Just saying. We are definitely going to explore that a bit in the future. But I can't feel anything else ... oh ... I think I have it, Harry! The link ... this must be it, but it's so weird ... it almost _feels_ ginger."

Harry laughed at that, breaking his stormy mood. "Can you get a general idea of where he is? Look along the connection line. Can you see anything? A landmark? A natural feature? Something that might give us a starting point."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Let's see. There's a lot of flat land and grass, an old barn that looked like Bob Ross painted it ... and, oh! ... grapevines, lots of them. Harry ... which direction does the vineyard stretch?" I think this _Weasel Line_ runs right through it."

"Weasel Line?" Neville chuckled as he moved over to them. "What's that?"

"Hermione's managed to tap into her ... er ... marital connection, and she's using it to get an idea of where Percy is," Harry explained.

"That was fast," Neville nodded, impressed, before adding without thinking, "Whoever thought that having a Weasley on the team would come in so useful!"

"Go fuck yourself, Longbottom," Hermione cursed. "Call me a Weasley again and I'll break your other wrist!"

"You know, I think I preferred it when you were a docile little thing, who only got rowdy when someone defiled a library book," Neville smirked, thoughtfully. "You were much less hazardous to my health back then."

"Yes, well, us _Potters_ aren't known for our docility, are we honey?" asked Hermione, turning to Harry.

"It's not mentioned on _my_ Chocolate Frog card," Harry replied in amusement. He smiled warmly at her.

"I almost pity Tom Riddle," said Neville. "He has no _idea_ what's going to happen to him in your hands, does he?"

"No, and neither does Percival Weasley," said Harry. "Meet at the vineyard in ten seconds."

And he Apparated first, reappearing between the line of apple trees that led into the vineyard. The apples were in season, it would be time for a pressing soon. In a few weeks there would be vats of sweet cider just waiting to be quaffed in the late evening sun. Harry licked his lips as he pictured it, then strode on through the rows and rows of grapevines, that were tangled on white trellises which snaked off into the distance. He wondered what grape variety the elves were growing this year. Last year's Pinot Grigio was wonderful, there were only a couple of bottles left.

Hermione and Neville soon joined Harry and together they exited the vineyard, moving briskly onto the gravelled driveway of the North Causeway, which led through the grounds from the back of the house, near the stables. The unicorns were clustered inside, sleeping through the daylight hours. Harry's Bayard, Bavieca - who had been a gift from the Spanish Ambassador to the International Confederation of Wizards - was grazing a little way away from the paddock. She looked up as Harry appeared, but lost interest as soon as she saw him without his saddle.

"Sorry, Bav," he whispered onto the breeze. "Maybe I'll come for a ride tomorrow."

He wondered if Hermione would be interested in riding his super-fast steed. She wasn't much for broomsticks, if he remembered rightly, but this was a more earthly form of travel. They could ride together ... that might be something, to have her pressed so tightly against him. It was definitely and idea to return to later. 

"Harry ... the connection ... it's really strong now we're outside," Hermione whispered as she hurried along at Harry's side. "Percy's close by ... I can feel it."

"The narrowest part of ward boundary is not far from here," Neville explained. "It's the closest point that it comes to the inner grounds. Harry ... we'd better act fast."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Because if Hermione can sense the connection more keenly ..."

"Then Percy will be able to, too," Hermione completed for him.

Harry drew his wand, took Hermione's wrist and place the wand tip to it.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, slightly breathless as Harry's magic began to swim with her own.

"Don't be afraid," Harry muttered back, equally as affected by the connection. "But I'm configuring your magic to sense the ward boundary. We have to Apparate as close as we can before opening the ward to capture Percy.

"You're not going to kill him?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"Not before we use him ..."

"... for information, to know what he knows," Hermione completed for him with a agreeing nod. "I like how you think."

"How _he_ thinks?" Neville quirked. "Merlin ... watching you two sometimes ... it's like you're thinking as _one_."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

"We are," they chorused. It was a pleasant sensation for the both of them.

Hermione's wand had snapped into her hand. Her magic throbbed with Harry's, creating a swirling wind that whipped up dust and twigs from the path, then all three Apparated right to the ward boundary.

"He's right outside, Harry!" Hermione hissed, angrily.

"We wont be able to see him," Harry reminded them. "Hermione ... you'll have to fire first. Light him up like a Christmas tree ... give me and Nev something to shoot at."

"Okay," Hermione nodded, smirking with dark playfulness. "Points for style and form on your curses, boys! Let's make this artistic!"

"Open the ward, Nev," Harry commanded with a wide grin.

Neville drew his own wand and cast a rune out before them. It struck a solid surface, glowed puce for a moment, then a rent in the air opened up like the entrance to a tent. For a moment they saw nothing ... or, at least, Harry and Neville didn't. 

But Hermione did ... and her spell smashed into Percy Weasley with the force of a wrecking ball ... and Harry and Neville cast with lightening speed just behind her.

Percy was thrown back and slammed into the parched ground behind him, becoming visible as his Cloaking Charm failed under duress. His glasses cracked and fell from his face, which had swollen up in angry boils. His tongue, which was now four to five times its normal size, lolled out of his mouth. Harry, Hermione and Neville moved forwards to examine him.

"Everte Statum?" asked Harry appraisingly. "Your work, Nev?"

"What can I say? I like hammering people into the ground," Neville shrugged. "I like that other little jinx. It's like a bunch of allergic reactions in one go. Who did that one?"

"That was mine," Hermione beamed, proudly. "Ron always had bad allergies. Sometimes I would trigger them in public ... to get back at him for hitting me in private. It's interesting to see how the spell works with more angry intent, or maybe all the Weasley's have the same. What did you do, Harry?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Just an Anti-Disapparation jinx. I didn't trust myself not to demolish him with anything stronger."

Hermione chortled at that. "What now? Shall we take him inside, or is that not safe?"

"We'll check him for detection spells and tracking charms," said Harry. "Then we'll take him back to the Ritual Chamber. If he _is_ rigged with anything, the room will absorb it."

"Rigged?" asked Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

"The Death Eaters must assume that capture is a possibility," Neville explained. "If that happens, Percy here could be carrying anything to use as a last resort ... a poison to release into our air, an item spelled to explode when he reaches our sanctuary. Hell, we even heard tell that they were experimenting with a form of blood magic that would turn a person's very cells into mini _bombs_. Who knows what Percy could be hiding under that freckly skin of his."

"Neville - snap his wand," Harry commanded, nodding to it nearby. Neville picked it up and cracked it in two, before tossing it carelessly away. Hermione aimed her own wand at the two pieces ... then proceeded to set them on fire.

"Just to be sure," she said, shrugging her shoulders at Harry's quizzical look. Harry chuckled at her, then began casting diagnostic spells all over Percy's body.

"He seems clean," said Harry, standing after a few minutes of rampant spell casting.

"Apart from being a Weasley," Hermione hissed.

"Some stains even magic cant remove," said Neville, grimly. Hermione glowered furiously at him. "What? You were a Potter five minutes ago. Make up your bleedin' mind, witch!"

"Neville, seriously ..." Hermione growled, dangerously. "I _will_ hurt you if you carry on."

Harry just shook his head exasperatedly. "Guys, come on. We have a Weasley ... an _actual_ Weasley ... in our custody. I, for one, am quite keen to have a little chat with him."

Both Neville and Hermione's eyes flashed maliciously. They nodded apologetically at each other in a gesture of truce.

"Right." said Harry. He flicked his wand at Percy, who vanished before them. "I'm going to prepare the Ritual Chamber for interrogation. Neville, you reseal the ward and gather the Circle. Hermione, if you'll permit it, I need to borrow your magical link again."

"For what?"

"I'm going to use it to drill into the head of Percival Weasley," said Harry, viciously. "Then I'm going to rip it out as painfully as I can. When I'm done, I will be in control of a part of the link that the Weasley family has to you. And, together, you and I are going to find a way to rid Ron from your system forever."

Hermione fluttered so much that Harry thought she was actually having a fit. He smiled at her, then turned and headed back towards their palace.


	26. The Triad

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

It was standard practice at the Blue Palace that any suspicious or confirmed enemy captors were turned over to Angharad and Myfanwy for primary interrogation. They took the role of joint Chiefs of Security, were rigorous and highly-trained, not to mention efficient and experienced. But with Angharad still recovering from her injuries, and Myfanwy a much-relieved girlfriend clinging to her bedside, the task fell to Harry to complete.

Not that he would have let _this_ interrogation go any other way … not when he had a Weasley under his wand.

After preparing his Ritual Chamber for the upcoming interview, Harry made his way slowly through the house, weighing up the suggestion he was about to make to Hermione. The idea had only come to him as he prepared his magical space, and he was reasonably confident it would be beneficial, but Hermione would need to show great courage if she agreed to his plan. Harry knew she had courage in spades, but her fear of this particular family was easily its dark equal just now.

Harry found Hermione in her bedroom suite with Enola, who was teaching her some of the basic wand-movements she used to clean Harry’s scar. He looked at her as he entered, dismissed her with just a glance, then turned to Hermione once they were alone.

“Well, _that_ was a little rude,” Hermione frowned. “I assume you have good reason?”

Harry nodded pensively. “I do. The Ritual Chamber is ready … I’m about to bring Percy in.”

“Can I watch?” Hermione asked, hopefully.

“I’m actually hoping you’ll _join_ me,” Harry muttered.

Hermione flushed at that. She couldn’t help it. In all her queries into ritual magic here, everyone said that Harry only ever cast personal magic alone, that to do otherwise would bring outsiders too close to his most intimate of energies. In group ritual he _borrowed_ the magic of others, harnessed it with his own, but only fused with it on a restricted scale. This ritual, Harry had told her, would involve opening up his mind fully to tear Percy’s link to Hermione away, and nobody else was permitted to join.

But here he was … inviting _her_ along. Hermione felt bizarrely as though Harry were asking her on a date, one where they’d finally have their first kiss. She felt as shaken by this request as she might have that one.

“I … I thought you said you would do this alone?” she asked, her voice oddly quivery.

“I will, mostly, but I think we might be able to achieve something else, too,” Harry replied. “I think we might be able to start your healing against Ron today.”

Hermione perked up in hope. “How?”

Harry sat next to her on the bed and took her hand, smoothing the back of her palm with the pad of his thumb and smiling at the feeling. “I’ve been trying so hard, thinking so much about ways I can help you. But every time I think I find a solution, another problem comes up. So I’ve slowly had to accept a hard truth.”

“Which is?”

“That _I_ can’t fix this for you,” Harry replied, a groan of regret rising in his chest. “These wounds, these memories, these fears are so deeply ingrained into you that not even my best magic can reach them. I’ve come to the realisation that only you can heal yourself of this. I can help, but you have to do the hard work yourself.”

“And you think we can use Percy somehow in this process?” Hermione queried. Harry nodded the affirmative. “Go on.”

“I have been starting to look at this in a new way,” Harry explained. “That this whole thing is like a disease … a virus … a Weasley virus. I think that Ron’s dominance over you wasn’t confined to his fists and spells, but it’s in the very sensory reactions you have to him. You tremble at the sight of him, recoil when you hear his voice, get nauseous if you pick up on his scent. And I’m betting that the feel of his magic has the same effect. Not only that, but that the element of the Weasley Family magic inherent in his own merely amplifies the sensation.”

Hermione scrunched up her brow in that way she always did when she was concentrating. Harry found it frighteningly cute.

“So, you're thinking of using Percy and his version of the Weasley magic to, essentially, create magical _antibodies_ for me?” Hermione mused. “You want to expose me to him, make me absorb a bit of the Weasley feeling into me, then teach myself to repel it?”

Harry nodded. “It wont be an easy lesson, but Percy’s effect on you wont be nearly as malevolent as Ron’s, and I know you have the strength to handle it. And it will begin to condition you against the family … hey, we could even take them out one at a time and build up your resistance to them that way!”

Hermione took a rattling breath. It was a plan both with its terrors and its merits. Hermione thought for a good few moments on what Harry was proposing.

“You’ll be safe in my Ritual Chamber,” Harry reassured her. “My magic will protect you, not only in my physical presence but in the magical resonance of the room. I’ll understand if you don’t feel up to it, but I think we have an opportunity here.”

Harry’s promise made up Hermione’s mind for her. She couldn’t avoid this, she had to beat it. This was her chance.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” Hermione nodded. “I know you’ll look after me, Harry.”

“You’re damn right about that!” Harry grinned. “If the Weasleys want you, they have to come through me. And I’m pretty tough, you know!”

Hermione laughed and snatched a cheeky hug from Harry. “Come on. I’m ready.”

Harry stood and offered Hermione his hand. They made their way back through the house, down the wide, sweeping central staircase with its gold-trimmed scarlet carpet and marble bannisters, across the vaulted reception hall towards the innocuous-looking door in the oak-panelled walls, and from there down the cool flight of twelve steps that led to the first sub-level and the Ritual Chamber.

Harry opened the door of the chamber and slowly stepped inside, Hermione following close behind. It was crackling with magic already. The runes on the floor flared with blues and greens and purples, while the alchemical symbols flashed silver and gold as Harry began conducting them in practiced sequence. He was standing near the plinth at the elevated centre of the room, twirling and twisting his wand as if he were writing out a language in the air. Hermione watched him a moment and gasped.

For the magic here was more potent than anything she'd yet felt from him. For it was costing him, draining him even. Hermione went a bit wild at that. But the power he was generating heaved and pumped all around them, like Harry was the huge piston of a great ship. And with each surge, the magic ballooned in intensity. Hermione felt it heavy on her chest and struggled for a clean breath.

"Come to me, my Lady Hermione," Harry called to her. "It isn't advisable to stay outside of the Circle for too long. When my potency whips up to full force in here, it is liable to shatter your skeleton."

"Okay," Hermione murmured, slightly astonished. "But where do I go? I haven't been given a place yet."

"Of course you have," said Harry, smiling warmly. "Your place is at my side."

Hermione blushed in response and prodded herself forwards, past the circular standing pads belonging to the other members of Harry's Inner Circle, and up onto the raised dais next to him. Hermione felt the magic begin to rise again, like a gale swirling around them. But it was only at the periphery now, like being in the eye of a storm.

Hermione stepped close to Harry. He was resplendent in an elegantly embroidered ceremonial robe of deep gold, that he had conjured from somewhere. It was positively _dripping_ in his own magical force, as though it had recorded every piece of magic he'd ever done and trapped its residual power. Hermione had never felt the like before. She was almost certain that, if he was so inclined, Harry could unleash the energy trapped within as though it were a deadly weapon.

She shuddered a moment at the concept ... for that was probably the very point.

Hermione found herself trembling a little, in awe of the potency of the power throbbing around her. She was still a little tentative when it came to ritual magic ... and Harry hadn't even added all of his own power to this one yet. She could feel him focusing it within himself, compressing it for the right moment. Merlin, he was wound tight! She wanted to ease him, but she knew that this was what he had to do. And if he needed her to do the same, she knew she needed to be ready.

He turned to her then, as if sensing her discomfort.

"Relax," he told her, calmingly. She couldn't see his face beneath his hood, but his voice seemed to smile. "You are the safest person in this palace. Well, you and little Ally share that title, but there's no need to be frightened. Relax and try to give to it. When we _really_ get you involved in this, you'll find the experience intoxicating."

"Will our wedding ritual be like this? This intense?"

Harry laughed. "Hermione ... this doesn't even come _close!_ "

Hermione swooned involuntarily and inhaled a startled breath. She clucked her tongue at him with her impatience.

"Here, take this," said Harry. He proffered a long, white robe woven of very fine linen. "It's made from unicorn hair and is perfect for ritual. It will let you absorb a little bit of the magic we're about to do. It's best to have a slow introduction to this form of sorcery. This way, you wont be overloaded."

"No, that will just be for our wedding night," said Hermione, grinning.

"Obviously ... _Mrs Potter,"_ Harry teased, referencing back to earlier.

"Sorry about that," said Hermione, a little guiltily. "It was Neville, he was just being annoying."

"Please don't be sorry," said Harry. "I liked it. I liked you saying it ... I cant wait until you get to say it and it be real."

Hermione smiled to herself and slid the ritual robe over her head. There were spells in the fabric, she could tell that. But they were light, unobtrusive. Not like her battle trenchcoat, which had defensive magic flowing through the weaves like heavy mercury. This robe seemed to reach _out_ for magic like a magnet, pulling a small amount of the power to it that was now pounding around them. Hermione slowly smoothed out the robe, down over her breasts and across her torso, hoping that Harry saw her do it, then made to kneel, as it just felt like the obvious thing to do all of a sudden.

But Harry's hand shot out and grabbed Hermione gently beneath the forearm. It was an instinctive reflex, for he wasn't looking in her direction anymore. He tugged her back up.

"My Lady bows to no-one," Harry told her, fiercely. "You stand with me."

Hermione gulped and reached her feet again, curling practically into Harry's side. This close, his magic was making her breathless and light-headed. Then Harry began chanting in a language Hermione didn't recognise. The air suddenly thrummed with sonic power, as though the sound of his song was a form of magic itself. Hermione decided that it probably was. She felt the frequency resonate in her very bones and every cell in her body, and her instinct was to resist it as an intrusion. But Harry's words rang with her, and she opened up to it, even offered her own magic to the ebb and flow enveloping her.

And the room erupted in a new level of power that took even Harry by surprise. He inclined his head at the blinding light suffusing the entire space like a supernova. Hermione didn't need words. She felt Harry's awe, his gratitude, the rise of his love for her in his chest. It turned the light a rich shade of gold. Hermione squinted at its brightness.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice oddly cracked and stuttery.

"I am," said Hermione. "Do what you need to."

Harry nodded. Then his wand snapped into his hand, and he finally pushed the fullest of his own magic into the vortex around them. It turned the torrent into a hurricane. Hermione couldn't look at it anymore, as she was certain it would blind her. So she closed her eyes, felt it instead. Let it infuse and cover her.

And her senses were sharpened by her submission. She could _see_ the room of a fashion, though her eyes were still firmly shut. But as the waves of magic shot around the walls, Hermione could begin to sense its contours, to feel the power of the archaic symbols carved everywhere, as though it were a physical echo bouncing back at her.

That's how she became aware that the broken body of Percy Weasley was already in the room with them.

Hermione fancied she should have been shocked at the state of him, but she had not the slightest inclination for pity where the Weasley family were concerned. She willed the magic billowing around her to wipe the stinking stench of the name from her being. She was _not_ a Weasley ... she never had been, not in anything more than a forced surname.

It was the worst abomination, the taint of a family so grab-arseing that it defied tolerance. From Ron and his pathetic clutch at whatever power he could get, to Ginny turning over her toxic womb to churn out kids for Voldemort, to Charlie ... who headed up the aerial surveillance and broom-based assault force of Tom Riddle's army. They were the biggest bunch of bell-ends in Britain.

At least Molly hadn't taken the road to the dark side before popping her clogs. Hermione had despised that overbearing streak of piss enough as it was.

But Percy was the nobody's nobody. So peripheral that if you blinked you'd miss him. He hadn't needed Voldemort's Dark Revolution to drink from the dark side's cup. He'd happily cosied up to the corruption of Fudge, the detestable fervour of Umbridge, sided against Harry on more than one occasion. There was no greater treason in Hermione's book than that. Whatever treatment Harry had in store for him, its limit of pain need have no upper threshold in Hermione's opinion.

And Percy's pain seemed to have already begun, as he was there, quite unconscious, slumped at a bland desk and chair in the heart of the chamber just beyond the plinth on the other side. The magic swirling around the place seemed to have started the interrogation for them, and made it a fairly brutal one at that. Hermione seethed as she stared at the beaten Weasley before them.

“How do I do this, Harry?” Hermione riled. “Let’s build me this Weasley vaccine.”

“Just do what you did before,” Harry instructed. “Find the Weasley signature, open your mind and magic, and let it in.”

Hermione did as she was told, shuddering violently as the connection flared deep with her. It almost cost Hermione her balance.

“You okay?” Harry asked, stepping close and taking her hand.

“Yeah, it’s just quite strong this close up,” Hermione whispered back, shivering slightly. “When I was searching for him earlier I didn’t have much time to think about it, but now that I’m inviting it into myself … urgh, it’s like swallowing rancid basilisk juice!”

"Let it in, but under your own control," Harry advised. "Treat it as though you are drip-feeding it into yourself. Take a bit ... beat it ... then repeat. Don't try and do it all at once."

Hermione followed the instruction. At first it was hard, like swallowing the first gulp of bitter medicine. But Hermione endured it, let it meet her own magic, and slowly found herself mastering the dark sensations. After a few minutes of this gradual battle, she found herself feeling strong and resilient in the face of it, and soon enough she felt that particular oppression had lessened immensely.

"I think I'm doing it, Harry!" Hermione chimed.

"I know," Harry grinned back. "I can feel it. You're doing so well. Are you ready for me to begin the interrogation and take the link from him? Remember, as Percy's emotion spikes, you will feel it sharply, too. Do you think you can handle it? This is your last chance to back out."

"Why would I do that?" Hermione queried.

"Parts of this are going to be intimate, invasive," said Harry. "I'm going to have to take control of a portion of your mind for a period of time. I know how much you've suffered under those techniques before. I don't want the experience to shock you into some sort of remission."

"Is that likely?"

"I don't know ... I've never done this before," Harry confessed. "But what I'm going to have to do isn't a million miles away from some of the control spells that the Muggleborn Registration Commission are trying to place on all Muggleborns. I'm doing it to protect you, but I don't want your mind and magic to recognise the sign of invasion ... and shut me down."

"What will you have to do?" asked Hermione.

"I have to enter your mind, to find that point where the Weasley spell is anchored into you," Harry explained. "I'll be delving into parts of you so deep and intimate and vulnerable ... you might rightly reject _anyone_ going there, whether it's me or not. The Commission want to use deep-level spelling as a control system, to allow your mind to know only what they want it to. It would, essentially, make you a slave to your Truly Wedded Lord."

"That doesn't sound so bad, Harry," Hermione joked, before adding somewhat vapidly, "I could live with being your slave."

"Hermione, this isn't a time for anything but the utmost seriousness."

"I am being serious," Hermione replied. "Harry ... I love you, and I trust you. Do whatever you have to, I wont resist. Just think ... love, honour and obey! It's in our future."

Harry snorted. "Our vows will be love, honour and _cherish_ , thank you very much, if we use traditional ones at all."

Hermione huffed. "Just go ahead and take my mind, Harry. It's only fair ... you've already given me your _heart_ , which is what you bring to this union. It's only right that I share with you my brilliant mind ... then we will truly be _one._ "

The room pounded with a deep surge of Harry's emotion. Hermione basked in it, swam in its very depths. For it was all for her. She felt luckier than any woman in the world just then.

"Okay," said Harry, easing down. "But if at any time it gets too much, just push me away."

Hermione knew his inference went far beyond this room and this ritual, so she moved to put him straight.

"Never going to happen."

Harry took a steadying breath. "Okay, I'm going to take Percy's link from you first. That way, when we interrogate him, no-one will know what condition he's in ... not a member of his family, not some stupid, Dark enchanted clock!"

"Ah!" Hermione sighed, cottoning on. "So _that's_ what you think is going on! You think that all the family members are magically linked, part of a connection that goes to each one of them _and_ informs Molly's old clock ... and you think it's in me, too! And that's how I was able to pick up on Percy's energy?"

"Correct," Harry nodded. "And now I want to use this ritual to take that strand linking Percy to you, and move it into myself."

"Is that safe?"

"I think so," Harry replied, evasively. "I have a mind plain dedicated to the Weasleys, so the link will go there."

"But then what?" Hermione pressed, her suspicion growing. "How will it work?"

"Think of it as spokes on a wheel," Harry explained. "Each spoke goes to an individual family member, then there's a collective sense mixing from the family hub, probably buried under The Burrow somewhere. What I want to do is hijack Percy's personal spoke, then create a sort of tributary into the connection Ron has to you. So whenever Ron tries to hurt you along the Weasley line, it will redirect into me, instead, but still feel like it's going along the family connection."

"No, Harry! I don't want him attacking you!" Hermione cried. "That isn't the sort of compromise I was prepared to accept."

"I'm not finished," Harry grinned. "See, what I'm going to do to _get_ the Weasley connection, is to put Percy's _soul_ into my mind plain, then configure it so that Ron thinks it's you! I can practice manipulating the Weasley connection that way and teach you how to do it, so that you can close Ron off completely without him knowing."

"Harry this sounds very _dark_ ," Hermione quavered. "How do you know it will even work?"

"Because Tom Riddle did it to me," Harry growled. "With Sirius. He made me see what he wanted me to. So that's what I'm going to do with Ron. He'll still think he's breaking into your dreams, when in fact his magic will flow into my mind plain and terrorise Percy instead."

"And how do you plan to get his soul out in the first place?" Hermione demanded, briskly.

"By using part of the Horcrux spell," Harry confessed. "It's the only one I know of that can rip out a soul."

"No, Harry, I wont let you do it!" Hermione shot at him. "It's too Dark."

Harry huffed lightly. " _I'm_ already too Dark, Hermione. If you were going to judge me for that you should have left the palace as soon as you had strength enough. If you still want to go ... I'll understand."

"Don't be so stupid," Hermione snapped back. "I'm just trying to protect _your_ soul, Harry, that's all."

"You already have ... in more ways than I could ever tell you," Harry whispered as he turned to her. The rise in the gentleness of the magic around them caused Hermione's knees to wobble. "You are the guardian of my soul, nothing bad can happen to it in your hands. That's why I know I'm on safe ground here. In any case, do you really think I'm going to let Percy walk out of this palace alive? He was dead the moment he crossed the wards, the moment he cast his first spell at them. It's a fact upon which only the time alone is undecided. So we might as well use him for everything we can."

Hermione stared at Harry for a long few moments, then simply conceded. She trusted him, trusted that he knew what he was doing. She was his Queen ... it was her role to go along with this.

"Alright, Harry. Let's do this." 

Harry nodded, his smile drifting on the air again. Then Hermione felt his presence, creeping close and edging deeper into her. She gasped, but not at the intrusion. She gave to that willingly, let Harry cross her borders without even a second of hesitation. But it was his delicateness, his care, that surprised her. He was so soft and considerate! He would make love to her like this one day, Hermione knew, and she thrilled at the expectancy that the understanding flared in her heart.

Her mind had wandered far away. It could be anywhere, or nowhere. Harry was there with her, holding her so tenderly that she felt fragile in his arms. His hold was so softly secure it was as if he daren't let her go, lest she shatter beyond repair. She'd be no good to anyone else if he did, not that she wanted anyone else. It could be just her and Harry in an empty world for all she cared. That suited her just fine. She relaxed and enjoyed these giddying sensations.

Then Hermione felt the change. Something shifted in her mind, lightened it. It was like the relief after a heavy sneeze blowing clear the sinuses. She blinked at her new awareness, only cognizant of this weight that had been pressing on her now that it was gone. She felt it go as though being eased of a burden she hadn't reaslises she'd been carrying ... and she beamed in delight.

For a part of the Weasley bind over her had gone.

But Harry was struggling to force it where he wanted it to go. He fell against the plinth, battling against the resisting Weasley magic.

"Harry! What's going on?"

"Give me a minute," Harry fired back.

"Cast the Horcrux spell, tear out Percy's soul!"

"In a moment," Harry cried, grimacing in obvious discomfort.

"What are you waiting for?" Hermione yelled. "You're risking exposure to the entire Weasley clan!" 

"Ron can't control me as he could you," Harry shouted back through gritted teeth. "My mental control is far more powerful and refined than yours. But I need to understand this other curse on you while I have the chance ... the one on your marriage bond ... if I can find a way to use it, to find out what else they've done to you ... it'll settle ... just give me a minute."

Hermione huffed and crossed arms angrily over her chest. She was fuming, tamping, raging. Harry had tricked her! Lured her into one ritual with every intention of slipping in another to access more of her problems. She felt stupid for falling for the same trick again! Though she couldn't feel anything _but_ grateful that Harry was willing to make yet more such sacrifices for her. She didn't deserve it, she was sure of that, but Harry didn't deserve her chastening him for looking out for her so diligently, either.

"Can I do anything to help?" she asked. She was getting desperate, Harry was obviously struggling.

"The connection is resisting my attempt to force my will on it," said Harry, his voice stretched and pained. "It's trying to lock on to Percy. There's another force at work here, Hermione ... a powerful force. I need Enola, or her mother, and my entire array of containment crystals."

"Is it safe for me to leave and get them?" asked Hermione.

"No, but you can summon them, and create a portal through which they can enter," said Harry.

"How?"

"Use the energy of the room," said Harry. "Focus your mind, imagine yourself pulling the magic to you like a magnet. Then try to concentrate on the energies of the house. I know you can already feel mine in the walls. Try to pick out Ennie's signature amongst all the other signals. Just think about pushing the idea of crystals down the connection to her ... she will understand and know what to do."

Hermione was a little daunted by the task Harry had set her, but the great academic rose in her chest to meet the challenge. She had to be methodical, even under pressure. _Pull the magic ..._ that was the first step. So she tried, but it wasn't as easy and effortless as Harry made it look. It was like trying to catch a pebble in a raging ocean swell. It skimmed and shimmied away from her grasp, and each failed attempt left her annoyed and frustrated.

Hermione huffed and sought to calm her mind. She was going about this all wrong. She didn't have the control or experience to handle the _entire_ magical collective, but she could manage one strand. She found Harry's energy within the swirling tide, and pulled it to herself as though reeling in a wild kite. Shards of the others came with it and Hermione was imbued with a ferocious sense of power a moment as they all settled on her.

_Merlin ... was this how Harry always felt in ritual! No wonder he was such a lion! This power was incredible!_

Hermione blinked the sensation off a moment. She didn't have the luxury of basking in that right now. She turned back to task, pushing her mind out of the room and searching for Enola. It was easier now. Harry seemed to have felt and cottoned on to what she was doing, and had joined with her, guiding her efforts. Hermione directed Harry's stupendously powerful mind, let him create the link to Enola, then Hermione concentrated with all her might on the message he had asked her to convey.

And mere seconds later, Enola appeared at Hermione's side, a box containing Harry's power crystals in her hand. Hermione smiled at her. She'd done it! Harry would be so proud of her.

Then Hermione promptly collapsed, utterly exhausted from the effort.

"Min!" Enola exclaimed, dropping to her side. "Are you alright?"

"Forget me," cried Hermione curtly. "Harry needs you. Right now!"

Enola obeyed the command. "Harry! What's wrong? You're barely holding on! What have you done?"

"He's taken Percy's connection to me," Hermione called up when Harry was unable to respond. "But he's trying to analyse my Marriage Bond at the same time."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Harry!" Enola cried. "You know that isn't how it works ... we talked about this!"

"You _discussed_ this?" asked Hermione aghast, dragging herself to her feet. "Are you saying he planned to try this!?"

Enola looked dumbfounded at Hermione. "Min ... Harry's considered _everything_ to try and heal you. He's even flirted with the idea of using an inverted Imperius Curse ... to use _his_ mind to order _yours_ to not be afraid of that prick you married."

Hermione's mouth dropped open in shock. She felt she ought to be angry at that, but she didn't have it in her. The very idea that Harry had spent so much time and effort thinking of ways to help and heal her ... it just stirred such tenderness in her heart that she could think of little else.

"So ... what did you discuss about this?" Hermione asked, her mind in a frenzy as she felt Harry's struggle beside her.

"He wanted to hijack the connection, use it himself to damage Ron," Enola explained. "But he turned away from the idea, as he didn't want to violate your mind any further than it has already been. That's why he abandoned the Imperius plan, too. But he speculated that he could take the link into himself ... if he could convince it that it was still connected to you. Is that what you've done?"

"Yes, by Harry taking Percy's link to me," Hermione explained. "Harry was going to rip out his soul and implant it into his mind plain for the Weasleys."

"I thought he might have," Enola huffed crossly. " And, as he was attached to your mind, he was going to fill it with copies of your memories and direct the link there. I was dead against that idea."

"Why?"

"It's extremely dangerous," said Enola. "The more we split Harry's mind, the less control he has in each plain. When he first came to us, after the Forest five years ago, it was the only choice we had. He would have driven himself mad. That dark plain, if you are ever unfortunate enough to see it, that's what his waking mind was like when he returned from the dead. We had to divide his mind to keep him sane.

"But the more plains we create, the more risky it becomes. The mind isn't meant to be split any more than the soul is ... we could lose control of Harry's mind by introducing a new and cogent soul into it."

Hermione's heart jumped into her mouth. What would that mean? Would Harry die, or just be inordinately different? Might he not recognise her ... not love her anymore? Hermione thought _she_ might die if that happened. But Enola was already moving, wrenching Hermione back from her speeding thoughts. She had eased Harry to the floor and was placing his crystals strategically around him.

"What are you doing!" Hermione cried. "You said it was too dangerous."

"We don't have a choice now," Enola snapped back. "Harry's gone too far. His mind will try and create a new plain if we can't force Percy into his existing one for the Weasleys ... and that might push him beyond his breaking point. Harry ... how far along are you?"

"I've cast the soul rend spell at Percy," Harry grimaced. "I wanted to interrogate him ... but I can do that later, in my mind."

"What shall I do?" asked Enola.

"Push Percy into my Weasley plain, then force me into my meditative state," Harry instructed. "I have to understand what I'm seeing. It cant be ... it _shouldn't_ be ... I need to understand this."

"Understand what?" Hermione asked, her anxiety racing all through her.

"Your Marriage Bond ... it has an extra _branch,"_ Harry forced out.

"And extra branch?" Hermione repeated. "What does that mean?"

"It means that Ron has opened up your Bond to a third party ... almost as if you were part of a _triad,"_ Harry explained, breathily.

"What!" Hermione gasped. "A triad marriage? But who is the third member? And why cant I feel it?"

"That's what I need to meditate on," Harry huffed. "It's the reason I can't take your Bond, and the reason you cant feel the third influence. My system utterly rejects it, but it's probably too weak for you to notice ... because it comes from a _partial soul_."

Hermione felt all life and colour drain from her body. "No ... Harry, don't say that! Please! Anything but _that!_ "

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but that's what this is," Harry riled. "Somehow, I don't know how, whether from the beginning or later ... but Ron has let _Tom Riddle_ become the third member of your marriage! I have to give you the link back now. It will be a bit of shock to your system. I'm sorry."

Then Hermione felt her Marriage Bond return to her like a punch to the gut. She doubled up, feeling emotionally winded. Her mind couldn't process what Harry had claimed, it was simply too horrific to easily accept.

"I have to magically subdue Harry now," Enola called over to Hermione. "But we need to get Percy Weasley's soul from his body to force it into Harry's mind."

"Okay." Hermione growled, steeled by this latest violation against her. "But I don't know the Horcrux Spell."

Enola looked scrutinisingly at her. "Harry said he has already cast the spell ... but there's the next stage of it that still needs to be done ... the body must cut from the soul."

"By killing him," Hermione muttered, shuddering all over.

"Min ... call Nev, he can do it."

"No!" Hermione cried. "This is my problem ... I need to take care of it. But how?"

Harry summoned all his energy for one last instruction. "Hermione ... at my side ... take Excalibur, she will answer to you ... _sever_ the link."

Hermione needed no second invitation. She reached into Harry's robe, questing for the sword at his hip. She soon found the hilt she was looking for.

Excalibur, weightless and Disillusioned for Harry, materialised into Hermione's palm as soon as her hand touched it.

She unsheathed the blade. It was surprisingly light, but the sharp edges glinted in the fierce glow still emanating from the walls. Hermione rounded the plinth and looked down at Percy, still slumped over the unused interrogation desk. She saw nothing but hatred embodied before her. She mercilessly placed the blade across Percy's skinny neck, took her truest aim, then raised the sword high above her head ... before bringing it back down with an angry _swish_.

And she beheaded Percy Weasley in a single stroke.


	27. The Seer Shows The Way

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

The silence in the air of Recuperation Room, on the palace's second floor, was palpably thick. It sat heavy and unmoving, like the stifling, arid dryness of a breezeless day in the middle of a heatwave. Hermione felt it settle on her like a suffocating weight. She watched Arianwen help Enola to sit up in bed as she stirred, fluffing her daughter's pillows and checking her over with a swift series of diagnostic spells. Enola frowned and cast an anxious look around, batting away her mother's attention. She looked first at Hermione, and then at Neville who, for probably the first time in hours, had torn his concerned attention away from her.

Then her eyes fell along Neville's eyeline ... and she gasped in horrified understanding.

For Neville was looking down gravely into the next bed along, at Harry ... whose form was motionless, his blank, staring eye pointed up at the ceiling with a glazed sort of disinterest. Neville's own expression was drawn, pale. Hermione could barely stand to look at it. She was reminded forcibly of that first morning, that wonderful first morning when Harry had come back to her life, when what struck her the most wasn't his hideous scar, or even his throbbing rage, that she would soon become intimately familiar with. It was his eye, turned to chilled steel and lacking all the vibrancy she knew and loved. It had lost all idea of hope or warmth ... in much the same way as Neville's eyes had now.

For the procedure to push Percy Weasley's soul into a plain in Harry's mind had gone _horribly_ wrong.

They had extracted the soul easily enough. Enola had it under her magical spell before Percy's severed head even hit the floor with a dull thump. But that's when things had started to go awry. Enola had struggled to drill deep enough into Harry's subconscious, as she fought with an external energy that rose and resisted her at every step. She was trying to hold onto Harry's essence with only the barest of her psychic fingertips, to pull him clear of Hermione's Marriage Bond and back into his own mind … but then she lost her grip at the vital moment. Harry's Weasley mind plain was just about opened and Enola, drained from the struggle, used the last of her energy to force Percy's soul into it, but then she passed out with exhaustion.

And Harry Potter's conscious mind was lost … _somewhere_.

Arianwen had taken charge of Harry's treatment, but she could do little to help. _Enola's_ speciality was mind magic, and she was uniquely intimate with Harry's mindscape. She was the only one who could really help him. But she had spent twenty-four hours in deep sedation herself, recovering her burnt out energy. Neville had barely spared a glance from her sleeping form the entire time. He looked exhausted now, but was keeping a determined vigil, lest his wife try to dive right back in to Harry's aid.

For Enola was restlessly eager to atone for what had gone wrong. She was sat up in her bed, adjacent to Harry's own, her arms curled around her hitched-up legs, just staring at Harry's expressionless face. He might as well have been a deformed sort of mannequin. There was nothing ... not a twitch, not a change of colour in his skin, nothing to indicate life at all, beyond the steady puff of breath from his smashed nose.

And even this stuttered. Each time it did, Enola and Hermione were almost in a silent race to react first. Hermione won every time, but it was all Neville could do to keep Enola from trying to gain a head-start on the next pause in Harry's breathing. She was as fully focused as her fatigue would allow, and Neville was deeply concerned for her.

"You need to eat something, to get your strength back up." Neville coaxed.

"I'm not hungry," Enola replied, stubbornly.

"A little tea, then?"

"No, thank you. Where's my wand?"

"I've given it to Alison. She's practising Summoning Charms with it."

"You've _what!?"_ Enola shrieked. "Neville … you haven't -"

"Of course I haven't," Neville huffed back. "How irresponsible a parent do you take me for?"

"Then give me my wand."

"No. It will try to draw energy from you. And you don't have any to spare right now."

"Nev … please …"

"No," said Neville, firmly. "I know what you'll try and do. I can read you like a book, my dear."

Enola frowned at Neville. "I can't just leave Harry lost in the abyss of his mind … this is my fault, I have to put it right."

"There might not be anything you _can_ do for him now," said Neville, soothingly. "Things like this are always risky. Harry should have known better, or at least told you what he was dealing with in case anything went wrong. Which it has ... massively. We have to ... start looking at other strategies now."

Hermione offered a confused frown of her own in response. "Why are you sounding like Harry wont come back?"

Neville swallowed hard and looked miserably down at Harry's prostrate form. "Hermione, I know how difficult this will be to hear but … we might have to accept the loss. We are assuming that Harry's conscious mind is lost somewhere in that void in his head, but we can't find it in any of the places that it could be. Ennie doesn't want to tell you this ... but there's a good chance that Harry's consciousness didn't make it back into his mind at all. He might be ..."

Neville's words fell away. He seemed unable to put the sentence together, the pain flowing through the lines of his face telling its own story. Hermione felt her heart crunch into her sternum. Neville was actually serious … he _meant_ this. He thought Harry was …

Hermione couldn't form the thought, she wouldn't. "Neville … why are saying this? Harry will be fine. He always comes back. Always."

Neville shook his head. "Maybe not this time. Arianwen, she ... she cant help Harry ... because she cant find him in there. She thinks there might not have been enough left of him to come back, once he crossed into your mind to assess your Marriage Bond and was attacked. We have no idea where his conscious mind could have gone."

Hermione's breath hooked in her lungs and she bit down on her lip. She looked to Enola, hoping for some sort of counter-argument. But Enola was just as grave as Neville. It stirred an unreasonable anger in Hermione's chest.

"Well _you_ must have some idea!" she cried at Neville's wife. "As you did this to him! This is supposed to be your area of expertise, so there must be something you can think of?"

"Hermione, that isn't fair," said Neville, rising to Enola's defence. "Harry's recklessness forced this on Enola."

"His recklessness!" Hermione shot, her ire rising rapidly and focusing on Neville instead. "I think you mean _selflessness,_ Neville! Harry risked himself to help me, to try and free me from Ron's chokehold. And I know you aren't stupid enough to say this is _my_ fault, either!"

"Of course he wouldn't say that," said Enola, quickly cutting across, as Neville seemed on the verge of saying something slightly reckless himself. Enola glowered at him until his irate look fell away. " _Would you,_ honey?"

"No … no of course I wouldn't," said Neville, breathing heavily. His tone was sincere, despite the fact that he'd been pouting for about seven seconds. "I'm sorry. I'm just fucking angry. That's not just Harry Potter laying there ... that's my brother I'm losing. We all want blame to be handed out, for sure, but it isn't fair to place it all at the door of my wife."

"Maybe not," Hermione agreed, trying to slow her own collision of emotions. "But she's the best hope that Harry has ... she has to try and think of something!"

"There may not _be_ any hope," said Neville, gravely. "We have to face that possibility. Harry would expect us to."

"So what, we just abandon him?" Hermione cried, incredulously. Her pulse was speeding in her neck. "I'm not going to do that, Neville. I cant!"

"You must ... it's what Harry would want," said Neville, cajolingly. "And he'd want you to take up the mantle that he's passed on to you."

"He hasn't passed on any mantle," Hermione volleyed back. "What are you talking about?"

"Harry introduced you just enough to our ways to make you understand how they work," said Neville, patiently. "He was thrilled by how you'd adapted to it, even from your brief exposure to this type of magic. He was even forming a new idea ... to make you part of our final plan to get rid of Voldemort. He'd count on you to see it through now. He believed in you, he knew you had immense potential. You have to prove his faith was justified.

"And there's the fact that he handed over Excaliber. He knew how such a gesture would be taken."

"Stop talking about him in the past tense!" cried Hermione, standing and glaring fiercely at Neville. Angry tears stung her eyelids.

"Hermione! He's gone!" said Neville firmly, facing down her passions. "And we have a war to fight in his name. He's given you just enough to take his place … the rest you can learn in time. He stirred your power as an insurance policy as much as anything ... just in case something like this happened. Defeating Tom Riddle is all that matters. It would have been easier with the both of you, but our original plan involved just Harry and me. We can still do this … just with you in Harry's place."

"No!" yelled Hermione, flopping back into her seat as the dam behind her eyes shattered. "Harry's not gone ... he isn't!"

"Tom Riddle has beaten Harry, Hermione!" Neville fired back. "He caught him off guard, struck Harry when he was weak and least expected it. Harry's body lives but his mind is _gone_. Look at him ... there's no energy behind his eye ... _nothing_."

Hermione collapsed down atop Harry's body and wept ferociously. She couldn't deny Neville's assertions ... the truth was staring back at her from Harry's blank eyeball. 

Neville leant down and placed a soft hand on Hermione's shoulder. "I know this is difficult to accept … I cant even imagine how you will. But Harry is a … a casualty of war. But the fight goes on. If we don't win it, all his efforts will have been for nothing."

Hermione sobbed uncontrollably. Neville squeezed her shoulder and said nothing. Hermione permitted the contact for just a minute, then she broke free and stood up, rounding on him as she furiously dried her tears.

"No, no I wont do this," Hermione declared, stoutly. "You want to give up on him? Fine. You do you ... but I wont. Harry wouldn't give up on any of us so easily, and I haven't even _begun_ to fight for him yet. But, when he wakes up ... and he _will_ wake up ... I'll be sure to tell him how quickly you were to write him off."

"But, Hermione ... there's nothing we can do. We've tried …"

"You've not _tried_ anything!" Hermione shrieked. "And in any case, this is _Harry_ we are talking about… do you really believe that the conventional rules still apply to him? Fuck you, Neville ... you've obviously learnt nothing from being so close to Harry all these years. You just sit by Enola and whine like a little bitch ... I'm going to find a way to bring Harry back, and I wont rest until I have one."

"Hermione, you're wasting your time," said Neville, his ire rising along with the flush to his cheeks. "We need to plan for what happens next. We cant expect Riddle to be idle for very long. Revenge for Hengest will be high on his agenda, and he'll soon guess what has happened to Percy when he doesn't return from his spying mission. We need to be ready."

"Then you do that," said Hermione, staunchly. "If I'm in charge now, that's my first order. Go and find out what that filth Riddle is doing around the country, why he was able to target us here. If there's anything to act on, gather everyone together and we'll discuss it."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Going on an expedition around the library that Harry built for me," said Hermione. "There will be an answer there, Neville, trust me on that. Harry doesn't get beaten by normal things, and there isn't any knowledge anywhere in the universe that can evade the power of _my_ mind as soon as I've decided to conquer it. You'll see ... just be ready to apologise when I come back and tell you _I told you so!"_

Then Hermione turned on her heel and strode purposefully away from the infirmary without another word. Neville had to admire her stubborn perseverance, and even had to admit that if there was a positive outcome to be had, then this would probably be the configuration for it.

For history had proven, time and again, that the mix of Hermione Granger and a library was always functionally equivalent to the term _solution_.

* * *

"Oh this is bloody hopeless!"

It was fair to say that Hermione's frustrations were finally starting to get the better of her. She doubted that any library anywhere would tolerate such language but, as this one belonged to her, she decided she didn't really care. Perhaps she'd start a new trend. Besides, her search wasn't going at all well and she couldn't get used to this conundrum. Books were _always_ the answer, she'd practically lived her life by that mantra.

But here they were, failing in front of her very eyes ... just when Hermione needed them the most.

"Useless fucking waste of wood pulp!" she shrieked, tossing another hapless tome across the room. Hermione immediately felt guilty and hurried over to retrieve it. Harry had obviously spent a great deal of time and effort - not to mention a good proportion of his fortune - assembling this vast collection of books just for Hermione's pleasure. It would be quite the show of ingratitude for her to break half of them through her own frustrated anger.

But there was nothing here that had been even remotely helpful so far. And Hermione had been scouring the vast shelves for a good ten hours by now. The assorted collection of coffee cups was testament to that. Sally, who had spent all evening trying to help her Mistress, was growing concerned.

"Does Mistress Hermione need a glass of wine perhaps? To calm her nerves?"

"No, but another coffee might be an idea," Hermione replied, pulling at her hair in her anxiety.

"No, no mores coffee for Mistress Hermione," said Sally, seriously. "Too much coffee now … Mistress be buzzing like bee."

"But I need the energy," Hermione protested. " _Harry_ needs me to have the energy. So, more coffee, please."

"Nope," said Sally, stoutly. "Is for my Lady's own good. Yous need rest. Can't fight Master Harry's corner whilst fighting yous own fatigue."

Hermione knew Sally was right, but she was in no humour to give in just yet.

"Sally … do you think this is hopeless? Nev and Enola clearly do."

"Lord Longbottom be practical sort, his Lady powerful at mind magic," said Sally, somewhat thoughtfully. "To _them_ , Master Harry may be lost. But Sally know Lady Hermione … yous cant give up on the love of yous life until absolutely no chance left of his coming back."

"But what do _you_ think? You have powerful magic of your own. Is Harry truly gone?"

Sally flopped her head sadly onto Hermione's knee. "Master Harry be gone for sure. Sally not sense him in his head anymore. Can he come back? Sally not be knowing this, Mistress, cos Sally not knows where he be gone. Sally not know much about it or how it works. Elves never use magic like that. Only witches and wizards be silly enough to mess with breaking up minds and souls."

Hermione felt her heart sink to the floor. She had hoped for some support from her elf, but to hear her speak with such assured sincerity … it sliced right to Hermione's heart. For the first time, she allowed a grain of doubt into her mind. She trembled all over as it took seed, blossoming quickly to all parts of her. She felt as if something had broken inside her and she flung her hand to her chest, to massage the ache which had stabbed at her there.

"Actually, Sally, I think I'll take you up on the wine. Might as well bring a bottle. Or three."

"Very good, Mistress," Sally nodded, and she promptly popped away.

A few moments later and three bottles of fine rioja were next to Hermione on the table. She filled, and promptly drained, the first glass, before pouring the next a little more slowly, with shaking hands. Her mind wouldn't stay still. She refused to accept the truth that was now creeping perilously close to her conscious thoughts. She couldn't. It was too horrific to contemplate, to even begin to process the big question of _what if_. What would she do? How could she possibly start to think about _what happens next_.

She shuddered at simply allowing the words to cross her mind. By the time she reached the bottom of the first bottle, Hermione was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest, and so fierce was the pulse-point in her neck she was worried it would rupture and spill out all over her skin. And she was restless. She would stand, pace around aimlessly, only to sit back down and rock back and forth, then stand again a minute later and repeat the process.

Wild, unchained thoughts fought for dominance in Hermione's mind. The most hideous of these was how long would the others would wait … before asking her to make the big choice. If Harry's mind was gone, his very soul with it, how long would they leave his body in that lifeless state? They'd point out that it wasn't fair on him … that it would be a mercy to take the toughest of next decisions … they'd rightly argue that it was what Harry would want …

And they would all look to Hermione ... force her to make that horrific surrender.

She cried out in anguish at it. The vision played over in front of her eyes, like a terrible fate she couldn't escape. She could see herself, inconsolable tears running down her cheeks, begging Harry for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry, Harry!" she howled. She felt as if she were signing his death sentence. "I don't know how to save you!"

And then ... as though providence had finally arrived to save the day ... 

"He's not gone."

A voice. Tiny, barely a whisper. Hermione looked around, even got up and went to investigate. Had she really heard that, or was it the wine talking? The second bottle had only dregs to show for Hermione's mindless bout of misery.

"He's not gone."

Hermione put her glass down and scoured the room. The light was dimming now, the library dull and gloomy in the twilight of the evening. She should have raised the lights. As she thought this, the room slowly lit up, as though the house was responding to her command. Or could Harry hear her, and was giving her what she needed. That was interesting. It stilled Hermione's panic a moment, only to stir it again as she considered the implications. Maybe Harry was some sort of ghost, haunting her and only able to interact with her in this basic sort of way.

"Mister Harry isn't gone. You shouldn't give up on him. He needs you."

Hermione spun and started in shock. Little Celesca Lovegood was stood in the corner of the room, partially hidden behind one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, peeking out shyly. Hermione was certain she'd checked there. She took a breath to steady herself. Seriously, she was bordering on bringing on a heart attack the way she was going.

"Hello," she said gently. "Does Luna know you're here? It's way past your bedtime, I'm sure"

Celesca stepped fully into the light. Her blonde hair had been arranged into a neat little bob just above her shoulders, and she was looking far healthier every day. But then, Hermione reasoned fairly, being minutes away from becoming a ritual sacrifice was bound to leaving you looking a little fraught.

"My Mummy is asleep," Celesca replied in her echoing, ethereal voice. She didn't sound anything like your average five-year-old. "But I could feel how upset you were, and what you were about to do, and I had to come and tell you that you mustn't ... Mister Harry isn't gone, so you mustn't give up. No matter what anyone else says ... _you_ cant." 

Hermione swallowed hard at that, as though she were being told off and put in her place by this child. It was a jarring sensation. "I'm trying not to, but I don't know how to help him."

"Not yet, but you're the only one who _can_ ," said Celesca. She came forward and looked Hermione all over. Hermione felt like she was being weighed up by this child. It was a little unsettling. "Mister Harry likes you _so_ much, do you know? I've never felt anyone liking a person as much as he likes you. But you like him nearly as much, I think."

"Nearly?" Hermione quirked with a wry grin.

"Nearly," Celesca repeated with a jarring finality that took Hermione by surprise. "So you'd be better not to give up on him."

"I don't want to," said Hermione, wearily. "But everyone else seems to think he's lost and I don't know what to do."

"Oh, he's lost alright," said Celesca, authoritatively. "But that just means he can't find his way back. Doesn't mean he's _gone._ They're not the same thing ... I thought a big person like you would know that."

"You say that with remarkable confidence," said Hermione, cautiously. That seed of doubt in her mind halted its growth spurt a moment.

"With certainty, Lady Potter," said Celesca.

"You can call me Hermione."

"My Mummy says you might be a Queen one day, a real one," said Celesca, her eyes sparkling with girlish excitement. "So that means I have to address you properly. My Mummy always said manners are important."

"And she's quite right," Hermione smiled warmly. "But I'm not a Queen yet. And, if Harry doesn't come back, I never will be. So you can call me by my name if you like."

"Mister Harry will come back," said Celesca. "But only you can help him."

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen in his mind, Lady Hermione," said Celesca, finally coming over and sitting down herself. "He has lots of layers, all dark and horrid. They should never have done that to him, Miss. Nobody should have that inside them."

"You've seen inside Harry's mind?" asked Hermione in a whisper, honestly a little envious of this little girl. "How?"

"With my Special Magic," Celesca explained. "I feel energies everywhere. People have lots of energies all around them, and I can grab hold of the ones that go into the mind and move along them. It's just like walking down a corridor for me. Then I see what they think, or what they are dreaming. But, with Mister Harry … I've never seen that before, like what he has inside. He has lots and lots of places in his mind, like a big building with lots of floors. I could go into each one for as long as I liked. But I didn't like to stay for very long … there are some frightening things in some of them, Miss. They'd scare even you to death, I'd bet."

"So, is Harry on one of these … _floors_?" asked Hermione, frightfully anxious of the contours of Harry's mind as Celesca had described them.

"He must be, because the other floors are still the same," said Celesca.

She angled her head upwards, in the direction that Hermione knew the Recuperation Room was. It was as if Celesca was _interfacing_ with Harry's mind, somehow. How she could tell that, Hermione wasn't certain, but she knew it to be true.

"If Mister Harry was gone, his floors would have gone with him ... but they're not," Celesca went on, borrowing her mother's dreamy tone a moment. "They're still there, but I can't get onto the deeper floors anymore to find out if he's in one of them. The pretty lady ... the one with the baby ... she went too deep by accident. She's gone beyond his mind, maybe his heart, too. Which is why you are the only one who can help him now."

"Me? What can I do?" asked Hermione. "I don't have the first clue about this. Enola knows all about mind magic … and these books are no help."

"The pretty lady cant help, this is beyond her now," said Celesca, wisely. "And the books are no good; you might as well throw them all away. The only person who can do anything is you. But you have to do something you don't want to."

"Which is?"

"You have to let go of yourself," said Celesca, cryptically. "It's the only way to turn _nearly_ into the _same_. You are holding back from Mister Harry in a very deep part of you. It has to be let go. Then your connection to him will be complete and you can find him. Nobody else can do that but you."

"But I don't know how."

Celesca stood and walked to stand in front of Hermione. She placed her little hand against Hermione's chest. "There is a cord of energy here. It's silvery in colour and it goes so deep into you that I never knew there were such places inside. I've tried to follow it, but at some point I get blocked off. I've never seen one before … except on Mister Harry."

Hermione shifted in her seat. "Harry has one of these … energy cords? What are they? Some other form of natural magic that he hasn't told me about yet?"

"This is more than magic, Miss," said Celesca. She rolled her eyes as if examining a piece of project work. "They are charged with such force … I think they go right into a person … right into their _spirit_. I hope I can have one someday ... they are the most pretty things, Miss. And they vibrate with the same sort of wobble, yours and Mister Harry's do. I think they can join together, and it would be so good if they did. I even think _they_ want to, but you're stopping it from leaving you."

"I don't want to stop it!" Hermione protested vehemently. "I want to join with Harry in every way possible."

Celesca shook her head. "You want to, but you don't want to at the same time. I don't really understand all that. I followed Mister Harry's side easy enough. It leads right into the very middle of him … and it's such a pretty place, Miss. Where the others are so horrid, that place is lovely. But with you … you're holding back. You need to fix it, whatever it is. Then you can rescue Mister Harry from wherever he's gotten lost to, because these cords will find each other and tell you where you need to look."

Hermione looked at Celesca and considered her words. She wanted to dismiss them as nonsense ... the ramblings of a little girl who didn't know what she was talking about. Hermione loved Harry so powerfully that it robbed her of her senses half the time. How could there be any possible way that she could love him even more deeply? But even as she said it, she felt a twinge in her heart. There _was_ something there ... and the realisation of it hit her like a bludgeon to the face.

But it was nothing to do with Harry ... this was all about _her_... something she was doing! How, she couldn't have said, but it was ringing with too much truth to be denied. She _was_ holding something back! In all her bluster about Harry drawing the line on physical intimacy, she hadn't considered that maybe there was more to it. That maybe Harry knew something about her that she didn't, and was simply waiting for her to come up to speed.

It made a skewed sort of sense now she thought about it. Harry had done nothing but look out for her since the day he'd roared to her rescue, both in deeds seen and unseen. It followed that he would look after her in this, too. He had been to the fringe of the afterlife, had his mother point out to him that he was in love, then accepted it completely when he returned to the earthly world. He'd spent years then learning about himself through ritual and study, becoming comfortable with all sorts of aspects to his person.

It could never be said that Harry was nothing if not self-assured.

But Hermione knew she couldn't claim the same. She had been beaten into physical and emotional submission by Ron. And Harry had bravely ripped as much of the effects of both from her as he could, without a single thought for himself. Hermione's heart stirred at the thought, that he loved her that much ... it was the sweetest thing. But had he also done it to lift the veil on what she was missing? Had he risked his own death to finally get what he had come back to life for, in the most complete way that it could be shared?

It made the wrong sort of sense that he would ... it was just his silly, chivalrous way. But how did Hermione go about finding out these things that he wouldn't tell her? The solution came without her even asking.

"Maybe you should go to the lady who told _him_ how to see the things he couldn't," Celesca suggested to her, reaching into her mind as easily as that. "If Mister Harry wont tell you what's wrong, maybe his _Mummy_ might be able to." 

* * *

"I'm not sure about this," said Neville, placing a Conjurance Stone at the centre of the Ritual Chamber.

"I don't care, we're doing it," said Enola, evenly spacing moonstone crystals in a circle around Neville. "After the way you spoke to Hermione yesterday, you wont dare to tell her no on this." 

"Look, I know you feel guilty, but Harry wouldn't approve of us using his Chamber without permission," said Neville, flushing in the face of his wife's condemnation of him. "This ritual space … it's his personal sanctuary. He's worked hard to harness the power in here. I don't know that he'd be thrilled to have it … well … _abused_ like this."

"I disagree," said Enola. "It isn't abusing it. Min told me that Harry intends to banish the spirit of Tom Riddle from every plane of existence using this room one day. He might use a ritual like this to do it. And if Luna has been advising her on how to construct this … what did she call it?"

"Necro-Portal," Neville inserted for her.

"Whatever it is … then maybe that's what Harry is going to use," said Enola. "See this as a practice run. Harry will be so pleased if we can make this work. In any case, I think it's quite clear that this space isn't just Harry's anymore ... it's Hermione's, too. Knowing Harry, it probably always _was_."

Neville looked doubtfully at his wife. "I admire your avoidance."

"Excuse me, but you should admire _everything_ about me!"

"I do, but you're pushing this a bit," said Neville. "Harry's lost. We have to accept it."

Enola put down her box of summoning crystals and rounded on her husband. "Why are you so keen to let Harry go? You haven't shown any sort of grievance over this. He's your _brother_ for Merlin's sake."

"I know that! Don't you think I fucking know that?" Neville yelled abruptly, his anger flaring so much that the runes at his feet burst to life to dissipate his searing rage. Enola ground her jaw, but faced off to him sternly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

He stepped close to Enola and took her hands, resting his head on her shoulder. His voice was gossamer fragile when he spoke. "This is tearing me up, okay, you want me to admit it? I have to be strong, when all I want it to let it all out and lose it. Just seeing him there so motionless … it's like he's dead already. I cant feel a damn _ripple_ from him ... and it's killing me just being in that bloody room with him in that lifeless state. I cant stand it ... and I'm just so angry at him for doing it. It's like he's killed himself without even saying goodbye."

"You'd have done it for me," Enola whispered back, her hand snaking up and cupping the back of Neville's head, drawing it tenderly into the crook of her neck.

Neville breathed a deep sigh. "You know I bloody would have. And quicker, too. That's what makes me angry ... I cant even be properly _angry_ , 'cause I'd have done exactly the same thing. Everything just seemed to be on the up … then this. I'm royally pissed off."

"Think about what I'm going through!" Enola cried back. "It's my fault he was lost in the first place. I just couldn't hold his spirit … it was like he was being tugged away from me by whatever force it was that he was struggling with."

"He shouldn't have put you in that position," said Neville, drawing back and looking firmly at his wife. "I couldn't say it in front of Hermione ... I thought she was a tick away from hexing me again as it was."

"I think you're right," Enola grinned weakly. "Her magic was actually sparkling on her skin. I've only ever seen that happen to Harry. She's stupidly powerful, Nev. If anyone can make this work, besides Harry, then it's her."

"I know that," said Neville huffing. "It's the only reason I'm permitting this. But what _exactly_ is she planning to do? If Luna's involved, I'm wary."

"Min didn't tell me much," said Enola, going back to her crystal placing. "All she said was that there is some way she can connect to Harry, but she needs someone to break down a last barrier for her. I don't know what that means."

Neville scratched his chin. "She needs someone to break down a barrier … and we are building a portal to the world of the dead … that sounds scarily like Necromancy to me. Harry definitely wouldn't approve of such Dark Magic tainting this space."

"Well, we aren't killing anyone," Enola considered, fairly. "What was it you said Luna was working on last, at the Department of Mysteries? That was to do with the afterlife, wasn't it?"

"She called it ghost writing," said Neville, nodding. "Trying to commune with the dead somehow. She never said it actually worked."

"Why was she doing that?"

"Harry is mindful that Tom Riddle has been killed before," said Neville. "His Horcruxes keep his spirit anchored here. We wanted to make sure that when the final battle came, we destroyed his body _and_ spirit. Harry could easily kill Riddle in a duel, but his spirit cant be allowed to escape again, maybe possess someone like it did with a Hogwarts Professor we had in our first year. So we wanted a route to the other side, where we might find help. Others on that side who could drag him through or trap him once he got there. There's only one place we know where such a doorway exists."

"The Veil, at the Ministry," said Hermione, who had just opened the door and entered without the others noticing. She marched purposefully across to them. "The only place where there is even a _possibility_ of reaching the other side … or of the other side reaching _us_."

"Is that what you're going to try and do … reach the other side?" asked Neville as Hermione came to a halt in front of him.

"Of a fashion," said Hermione, coolly. "Harry's not lost entirely. I can reach him … I just don't know how yet. I'm guessing that it isn't conventional wisdom. I'm hoping to find someone who can tell me what I need to do."

"Who?" asked Enola.

"The person who knows most about Harry's internal workings," said Hermione, somewhat cryptically. "The Stone at the centre of this circle - it is made from iolite, yes? Luna said that's very important."

"Yeah, my Mum said that too," said Enola. "It channels dreams and journeys. Is that what you're going to do, Min? Go on a journey into Harry's mind?"

"Eventually," Hermione replied. She began unfolding the ritual robe Harry had given to her. "But first, I need to go into his heart. That's where the answer is."

"Lily … you're going to see Harry's Mum!"

Hermione cocked her head at Enola. "Good guess. How did you know?"

"Easy. She's the only person in Harry's heart besides you. And you're hardly likely to be going to see yourself, are you?"

"Harry's Mum?" Neville queried. "But why?"

Hermione paused and looked inscrutably at Neville and Enola. "Well, I was thinking … me and Harry … well, it sometimes feels _bigger_ than us both. Like fate, or destiny, or something like that. Like it was just meant to be, no matter what. When we're together, I feel a whole new sort of magic, a different type of energy flowing between us. It's hard to explain … but I think there's something between Harry and I that goes far beyond anything that most couples have, even ones so deeply in love, like you two."

"What … like you're _soulmates,_ or something like that?" asked Enola, quietly.

"Or something like that." Hermione repeated, blushing madly. "I don't even know if there is such a thing as soulmates, but if there is, or even something different to that, me and Harry are definitely it. I couldn't say how I'm so sure, I just am. Saying I'm in love just isn't strong enough. Our connection goes much deeper than that, to an emotion that has no name.

"But there's something on my end stopping us being together in that complete and utter way. So I have to ask Lily how she opened Harry up fully to me … then see if she can help me to do the same for him. I think there's a power there that we can harness together. It could be beautiful, it could be terrible … it could be the answer Harry's been waiting for me to find out for us. So I have to try."

"Wow. Just … wow," Enola goggled back at her.

"And you don't think that this is at all dangerous? Communing with the dead?" asked Neville. He held up his hands when both Hermione and Enola frowned at him. "What? Someone has to ask the difficult questions around here. I'm not doubting anything you've said about you and Harry … but that doesn't make this any less _grey_. It's flirting with Necromancy and you know it."

"It's just a meditation ritual," said Hermione. "More like astral travelling. I'm going to try and tap into Harry's energies in here, make contact with all those looking over him. I'm hoping Lily will come to me."

"And if she doesn't?"

"I'll threaten not to let her see her grandchildren," said Hermione, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I can be a stubborn little witch when I want to be."

"We've noticed," Neville and Enola chorused. Then all three laughed together, shattering the tension that was threatening to build between them.

"Well, the stones are all placed as you wanted," said Enola. "Is there anything more we can do?"

"No, this is perfect, thank you," said Hermione. "Now, some privacy please. I have to go and have a chat with my future mother-in-law."


	28. Hermione's Hidden Mindscape

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

He wasn't sure if it was mist, or clouds, or if it was just some sort of weird, white space. It was sort of like Kings Cross in the afterlife. Tangible, able to create form if it wanted to. Only it didn't. It wanted to stay vague and dense and unyielding. And it seemed to go everywhere. Or maybe it went nowhere. It was hard to tell.

Either way, Harry was starting to get pretty pissed off with it.

He had literally zero idea where he was. Or how long he'd been here. He remembered falling from a great height, but then he just stopped. It wasn't a landing as such, more like getting stuck on the fall. Harry spent a good while simply looking around at this unending whiteness, before he realised he could move. So he tried, first at walking pace, before moving to a brisk jog, then upgrading to a full sprint when he panicked slightly at not getting anywhere. It didn't help. He tried lots of different directions, all with the same result.

He might as well have been jogging on the spot for all the difference his efforts made.

_What the hell was this place?_

Harry could remember the ritual, it hadn't gone to plan. Enola had been struggling to hold onto him, something was pulling him the other way. It was like a sinew of the Weasley's connection to Hermione, turning him into a tether to Hermione's mind. He'd tried to kick away from it, but she wanted him to stay so much. Harry gasped.

He'd _let go_ … Percy's soul had gone into his mind with Enola's last surge of power, Harry remembered that much at least. But she didn't have enough energy left to send him into the Weasley plain along with him … that must mean Harry was still … that he was …

"Stuck … in _Hermione's_ mind _?_ That shouldn't be possible," Harry pondered aloud. "Two souls can't inhabit one mindscape ... can they?"

But as soon as he spoke the words he knew they were true. The whiteness shifted in its sensation. It wasn't dense and smothering anymore, but pure and comforting. He was in Hermione's mind! And it was much nicer than his own, that was for sure. It was so _clean,_ so ordered. Harry huffed with jealousy at it. She would have to lend him the space, he could meditate in utter peace here. It would be like a little holiday.

If he could ever get out. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? He panicked a little again. In theory, he was stuck here forever. In his own mind, the way he and Ennie had worked it, they had created a conduit for her. One that would open to her magic, so that if Harry was badly hurt and retreated into his mindscape, Enola could open her link to him and pull him out.

But he didn't have that luxury here. This was Hermione's mind, pure and unaltered. There would be no tether to the outside world, or any other person. Harry was actually glad of that. He was ridiculously possessive of Hermione now and didn't like the idea of sharing her with anyone, but he still couldn't inhabit her mind forever. If he didn't eventually drive her mad with his lingering presence, she'd probably assume he was brain dead and they'd kill his body. He couldn't let that happen, not after coming all this way with her. He had to find a way out. This was going to take some thinking about. Harry sat down, drumming his fingers on his chin and humming tunelessly as he considered the problem.

Was Hermione's mind really so undamaged, as Harry had so swiftly assumed? It didn't make sense that it _wasn't._ Ron and Riddle had truly fucked her over. So much so that Harry wasn't convinced that _any_ form of vicious death would be satisfying enough for him. With each ritual look at her psyche, Harry exposed a little more of the extent of it. He was toying with the idea of reanimating their corpses, once he'd butchered them first, and then killing them a new way every week, till he eventually got bored of it. Which he probably wouldn't. He wondered if, in all of their shoddy spell work, the dark cunts had left an opening in Hermione's consciousness somewhere, something Harry could use to at least get a message out, to tell them he was still around. It was his best hope.

In any case, it wouldn't hurt to have a look around while he was here.

But where was _here_? Harry had to establish that first. He daren't go fiddling with anything down here that might shock Hermione in her waking mind. She might go crazy at that. He wondered if this was a part of her subconscious that even she didn't know about, perhaps a separate plain of her own, opened up naturally to deal with the horrific events of her daily life. It made a sort of sense, and would certainly explain had she'd coped so admirable with all the heinous crimes that had been visited on her.

But Harry had to be sure. He shifted around and crossed his legs, settled his breathing into its accustomed pattern for meditation, slowing his heart till it was barely a tap against his sternum. He moved towards trance, tuning in for the tell-tale vibrations of Hermione's thoughts. Her signature was like her scent, warm and comforting. Harry loved when it swirled around inside him. The good thing about mind magic of this sort was that it was universal. Harry could pull memories easily from anyone. Except himself. He hated his own memories ... for most of them scared the living shit out of him. Literally.

Every time he and Enola tried to tackle one in his Dark Plain, it was always a two change of underwear trip.

But this was going to be child's play. It bothered him greatly, but Hermione's mind was so unguarded. The flimsy Occlumency shields she had were useful against only the weakest of intrusions. He knew that wasn't her fault, she'd have been severely punished for anything more fortified. And Ron had put in such control features to Hermione's mind that Harry didn't dare try to put in anything himself, lest it trigger some sort of defensive response and hurt her.

Somehow, she would just have to break those particular chains herself.

But Harry could surf gently through Hermione's memories for now, ride on the back of the ones Ron's control spells were forcing to her surface to torture her. Eventually, Harry would redirect these to Percy, but he would have to get back into his own mind to do that. Right now, Harry trusted Hermione's subconscious mind would give him what he needed, would somehow recognise his presence and try to join with it to fight against Ron. It might even help him let her know he was there, without spooking her too much.

And, while he was here, maybe he could learn about these deep restriction spells that Hermione was littered with. The ones that seemed to have been designed with _him_ in mind. That would be a useful way to spend this little trip.

Harry just had to find where they were. Hermione would probably have compartmentalised everything, knowing her. Harry just had to find the right department. Even if she'd been unconscious when Ron spelled her, there would be a record of it in her mind somewhere. Harry needed only to find the right one, pick up on the vibration, then see if Ron had been as sloppy in his spellwork as Harry would have expected him to. Useless pauper tosspot. There would be a way to reach Hermione's conscious mind that way, and Harry could call for her help.

But the first memory Harry saw wasn't about Ron at all. It was just Hermione, sat all alone on her bed at Hogwarts. He knew it was Hogwarts because she still had her Gryffindor robe on and Crookshanks was playing with one of the tassels where it had trailed to the floor. At first, it was just Hermione, her cat and the bed against all that stilled whiteness everywhere else, then slowly the whole dorm materialised around her. Harry guessed she was around fourteen or so. She looked adorable. Harry had forgotten how cute she was back then. He chastised himself ... he wouldn't forget that again.

He moved slowly to her, to see what she was doing. At first he thought she was making paper dolls, or else a poison pen letter. She had pages of the _Daily Prophet_ spread haphazardly out around her. And she was cutting bits out with a pair of red scissors. She was taking the utmost care with whatever she was doing; her tongue was poking out of the side of her lips as she concentrated, her brow creased as she focused. Harry felt his heart melt at the sight ... he'd forgotten she used to do that. It was unbearably cute to see it again.

But what was she cutting out? Harry moved closer and looked over her shoulder. Then he sucked in a stunned breath ... for they were pictures ... of _him_ , of her ... of _them_ … together. Hermione cocked her head sharply as if she sensed movement nearby and Harry jumped back on reflex. It was stupidly dumb. This was a memory, he hadn't been there at the time, so fourteen-year-old Hermione couldn't know he was there now.

Why was she cutting out pictures of them both? Harry knew what they were from ... he could see Rita Skeeter's toothy picture grinning up at him from her by-line. The fucking Triwizard Tournament. That would make Hermione fifteen, Harry thought. It made him feel slightly less creepy about ogling her as he was. But only a bit. But what was she doing with the pictures? Hermione froze again. Voices had sounded outside the door and she hastily stuffed her cuttings under her blankets. Harry could see her visibly quivering in nervous fright, as she sat there and tried to force a breezy demeanour into herself.

But the voices passed, heading to an upper bedroom. Hermione's shoulders sagged in relief and she gently eased the paper cuttings back onto her lap. Harry was amazed. Even in her haste to hide them, Hermione had managed to keep the cuttings flat and pristine. It looked like she was well practiced at this. Harry was morbidly fascinated now. What in the name of Merlin was she up to?

Then she did something utterly shocking ... and actually _kissed_ Harry's moving image on the page in her hand.

Harry's jaw fell open. He watched guiltily as Hermione hugged the picture to her chest, closing her eyes and smiling deeply to herself. Then she gave it another swift, chaste kiss, before reaching for her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and sliding the page into the back. One quick transfiguring spell later and it looked like just another page of the book. Hermione nodded her head in approval of a job well done, then moved on to the next cutting.

Harry felt ashamed for watching. He was intruding on something incredibly private and intimate, but he couldn't drag his eye away. It felt indecent to be doing this, and he was sure Hermione would be very angry if she ever found out about it, but Harry couldn't stop himself. For young Hermione was now holding a different picture, one of them hugging, caught at an opportune moment just before Harry faced that twatting Horntail in the First task. The old scar on his shoulder from that battle ached sympathetically at the memory.

Hermione was stroking the picture with delicate fingers, looking at it with such reverence, such hope, such earnest desire … but also with something else. Something sorrowful. Harry hated to think it was _resignation_ … but the expression seemed to fit perfectly. Harry felt his heart crack as he looked at the scene. Young Hermione was daydreaming, pretending she was in a world she didn't think would ever _really_ exist. One at Harry's side, hugging and supporting him as a steady girlfriend would, just before he did something standardly dangerous in his warped life.

But it would never be real for her, he'd never notice her like that. Her pitiful expression told Harry all that and more in the moment or so that she wore it. So this mocked up picture was as close as she'd ever likely get to living her dream. Harry knew her thoughts innately as he looked into her sad eyes. She'd read the stories as if she were someone else, let herself believe all of Rita's wild embellishments, and then snuck off to her dorm to indulge her heart a moment, in a private place when no-one else could see and laugh at her for imagining the impossible. Then she'd cast that little charm again to hide the pages, hitched the cover-smile back onto her face, and slid back into the sad reality of that 'friend zone' that Harry had stupidly confined her to.

And Harry had never hated himself quite as powerfully as he did in that moment, as he watched it play out before his eye.

That was until a minute later, when Hermione heard voices outside the room again. Only this time the door handle creaked as it turned, and Hermione dived under her covers as Lavender and Parvati entered the dorm. She was facing away from them and scrunched her eyes closed with a terrible fake snore, as the two girls settled on the farthest bed away.

Then they began to talk.

"You don't believe it, do you, Lav?" asked Parvati.

"What? The story about Harry and Hermione?" Lavender replied, dismissively. "Of course not. I can hardly think of anything I believe _less_."

"Good. It's not just me then," said Parvati with a self-satisfied smirk. "Padma said there's a rumour going around Ravenclaw that Harry has a secret date for the Ball lined up. She asked me if I knew who it was, but I told her straight ... if Harry _does_ have a date, the last witch he will be taking is Hermione bloody Granger!"

Lavender spat out an acidic laugh. "Oh, Merlin no! Good sisterly advice, that. Can you imagine if Harry rocked up to the Yule Ball with _that?_ Never mind Harry not living down the shame, fucking _Hogwarts_ would struggle to get over it. We'd forever be the laughing stock of magical Europe! Our Champion going with a witch like that ... they'd probably kick us out of the ICW!"

Parvati giggled. "No, Harry's got too much class and sense for that. He'll probably go with one of those French slags. Get a French kiss or two, if he's lucky."

"I'd give him a French kiss if he wanted," said Lavender, thoughtfully. "And I'm English! He doesn't need any foreign witches to teach him things like that!"

"Lav!" Parvati shrieked quietly and burst into giggles again.

"What? I would," said Lavender, unabashed. "Harry's dead cute, I know you think so, too. Maybe I will kiss him, just to make Hermione cry. I owe her for showing me up in Ancient Runes the other day."

"Do you reckon she fancies him, then?"

"Of course, that's fucking _obvious_ ," Lavender spat, nastily. "Have you seen how she looks at him pretty much all the time with those puppy-dog eyes? Especially when she knows that he isn't looking back? And he can't look back very much. No, she's totally besotted with him. I think the only person who doesn't know that is Harry. Well, he's never said if he _does_ know."

"Probably because he doesn't want to show her pity … or be sick thinking about it!" added Parvati. "He probably only looks at her when he has to."

"I sat next to her at Quidditch once," said Lavender. "Didn't watch a minute of the game ... just kept her eyes glued on Harry the entire time. He was far away when he was on his broom, so it was safe for her to just stare. It's pathetic, it really is. There's Bob, and there's Hope, then there's No Hope! As _if_ someone like Harry Potter would ever fancy _her!_ "

"They've been spending a lot of time together, though … alone," Parvati mused. "Maybe they're being naughty on those long walks around the Lake. Who knows?"

Lavender scoffed. "Hermione? Naughty? Have you swallowed a dodgy potion or something? I don't think there's a charm strong enough untwist the knots in _her_ knickers. As if Harry would want to put his hands down them anyway. Something might bite him!"

Parvati was rocking by now. She gathered herself after a minute or so. "It's a fair question, though. Why else would they be going off together so secretly?"

"They weren't on speaking terms for ages with Ron, were they?" Lavender reminded Parvati. "Him and Harry had that big fight when his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. Maybe that's why. Now that's a proper fucked up sort of love triangle. That wouldn't end well for Ron, mind. And if Harry _has_ gone mental and wants to fool around with Hermione, the Lake _is_ pretty secluded round the back. No-one would see. And if someone did, he could always feed her to the Giant Squid and make it look like an accident!"

"Lav stop!" Parvati giggled. "I'm going to break a rib here … Hermione _is_ asleep, isn't she?"

"I thought you checked."

"No, I thought you did."

"Oops," said Lavender. She got up and padded over to Hermione, peeking at her pretend-sleeping form. Then she gave a thumbs-up to Parvati, and tip-toed back to her.

"Maybe we should go … just in case," Parvati whispered.

"Yeah, maybe we disturbed her having a little fiddle," Lavender giggled, bitchily. "Not like anyone else will ever touch her, is it?"

Parvati chortled again. Harry just fumed and raged as he watched the two vacuous Gryffindor girls bitch about his love. He looked down at Hermione's body. Her eyes were closed, but no longer scrunched tightly shut, and she was holding herself quite still. That sense of resignation was now pervading her entire body. Only one thing moved on her … a single tear that was sliding down her cheek. Harry's thudding heart battled with his anger for dominance in his energy, but there was nothing he could do. This was in the past, it had already happened.

Hermione had suffered all alone ... and Harry had been right there and done nothing about it.

The image faded, leaving Harry to wallow in his misery. He would find a way out of this, make everything up to her, he swore that to himself. He felt so awful. What made the whole thing worse was that Harry had _loved_ Hermione when all this had happened. He didn't know it at the time, but the revelation would have opened his eyes even then. He loved her … and he let her be broken down like this. Why had _this_ memory come to him? Was it some sort of torture? It felt like that.

But a new image was forming, it took Harry's attention away. Hermione was lurking at the bottom of one of the spiral staircases of Hogwarts. Or was she hiding? Harry couldn't tell, but she was the same age as the last memory, pacing around fretfully. Why would she be acting so suspiciously? And why did she look so unspeakably nervous? Harry moved closer and saw Hermione was mouthing something to herself, her voice nothing more than a wisp of breath.

"Would you like to go … I was wondering, seeing as neither of us have … no, that's a stupid way to ask, he'll think I'm taking pity on him, or else asking for some of my own," Hermione was muttering lowly, her features anxious and strained. She wrung her hands together fitfully and took a heaving breath. "Right, start again … phew, I'm so nervous, okay … you can do this, Hermione, pull your head together ... _you haven't got a date yet? Well, you don't need to ask anyone else, cos I've liked you for ages, yes, like THAT, and I'd just love to go with you, I've just never found a good time to say_ … yes, that sounds alright.

"Right, this is what we'll say … _Harry, look,_ _I've liked you for so long, ages, really … and I'd be so happy if you took me to the Ball … I know I've never said anything before but, well, there's never been a good time, has there? What with trolls and basilisks and hippogriffs and … what? You like me? You've been trying to build up the courage to ask me out ... oh Harry! Really? You too? Oh, nevermind all that … mwah mwah mwah …_ "

The final words were lost against the back of Hermione's palm, where she was frenetically kissing it. But then … voices … up on the stairwell above. Hermione froze, took a steeling breath and repeated over and over, with trembling lips, ' _you can do this, you can do this …'_ She took one stair and the voices were suddenly right over her head, just out of view. One was very familiar.

It should have been. It was Harry's own.

"Willyougoballwithme?"

Harry's heart sank. He knew what this was, knew when it was, but it made it a memory he knew would hurt viciously to view. He didn't want to look at Hermione, couldn't bare to see that expression on her face. But something told him he had to ... this was important somehow.

But it was the hardest thing.

The level of disappointment on young Hermione's face was incalculable. It was like her entire world had collapsed down on top of her. Harry's heart raced with sorrow as he watched her hopeful expression deflate and crash to the floor. She clutched at her chest, as if struggling to breathe. Then her head bowed and her entire body sagged. She tucked in behind the bannister to retrieve her always-overloaded school satchel. She heaved it onto her shoulder with a broken groan, then slumped off sadly down a deserted corridor, wiping the once-kissed back of her hand across her newly glistening cheeks.

Harry fell to his knees as the scene faded. "Why are you showing me these things?" he cried aimlessly into the light. "My heart is breaking here. I don't want to see any more."

But there was more.

Hermione materialised again in front of him. Older, maybe by a couple of years. She was sat on a bed again, but it wasn't Hogwarts. Harry didn't recognise the neatly ordered room around her. Hermione was holding her wand in shaking fingers, aiming it at a book. It was like she was trying to cast a spell at it, but couldn't remember the incantation or wand-movement. In any case, the attempted spell was disrupted with every swish by a shrill spitting sound next to her.

"I have to, Crookshanks, I just have to!" Hermione moaned. "It's the only way."

Crookshanks mewled angrily at the end of the bed. His claws were dug sharply into the quilt.

"Don't you be cross with me, too," Hermione whispered, her eyes watery. "I've already had the lecture from Mum … but she doesn't get it, doesn't understand. No-one does."

Crookshanks meowed his disagreement.

"No, not even _you_ do, my sweet," said Hermione. She sighed heavily. "I can't be _in_ _love_ with him _,_ Crooksie … I just _can't_!"

Crookshanks simply stood, pointed his bottle-brush tail into the air in resigned defeat, and stomped away out of the room. Hermione looked to the ceiling for guidance. None was forthcoming. So she returned to her book, flicking to the back pages again. She finally touched her wand-tip to the corner of one, setting it gently alight. She wept as the page curled and separated under the controlled, bluebell flame, and Harry watched his own facsimile turn to ash … as the already burned pictorial Hermione's arms flung around his neck one last time …

"Hermione! Stop!" Harry called, fruitlessly.

But she didn't. She repeated the process on all her enchanted pages. Harry watched in dumbstruck horror as she did so, watched her erase all traces of her secret, unrequited love for him. When she was done, she looked so pale she could have been admitted to St Mungo's for evaluation. Was being heartbroken a disease? If it was, Harry was its latest victim. He would need Cassie's strongest Calming Draught to get over this, and months of ritual meditation.

Though Hermione wasn't done. Once _Hogwarts: A History_ had been liberated of its extra pages, Hermione turned the wand on herself. She pointed the tip at her very heart, and cast a silent spell. It settled on her with a dull, grey glow. Then she moved her wand to her temple, and pulled a silken, silvery thread from her skin. A memory … the record of whatever it was that she'd just done to herself. She didn't store it, didn't whip out a vial to keep it safe in. She just flicked her wand and let the memory strand fall away into the air, where it crisped up like the burning pages and disappeared into nothing.

Hermione changed in a moment. She appeared bright and alert, if a little weary. She picked up a brush and swept away a ring of salt that Harry hadn't noticed around the bed. An ancient form of privacy magic she'd cast around herself. Clever, Harry thought. He hadn't known she was versed in such techniques. But of course she was, this was Hermione Granger he was watching. Her underage magic would have gone unnoticed within the ring of salt, but what was that spell that had she done? Harry had no idea.

And no time to ponder, as the scene shifted once more. The vision this time drove Harry to maddening anger.

For Hermione was much older, asleep right now, but glowing under the influence of a containment ward. She was being spelled to deep unconsciousness. Harry threw a punch at the one pointing his wand at her, but his spectral fist passed right through Ron Weasley's ginger fucking head. Harry tried again, just in case. But it was useless. Then a voice spoke ... and the sharp pitch chilled Harry right to the marrow of his bones.

For it was Tom Riddle.

"She is ripe. She will give you a son."

Harry forgot how to think. He stared in blunted shock as Riddle placed his hands on Hermione's _womb ..._ he had _touched her!_ Harry felt physically sick at the sight. Riddle had placed his dirty, filthy hands on the most precious, most purest thing in Harry's world. How dare he! That fucking snake-shagging cunt!

"Thank you, my Lord," Ron simpered. Harry riled violently. Riddle had _touched_ Hermione … and Ron had stood there and _let_ him! Oh … the horrors Harry was going to visit on that treacherous little back-stabbing piece of Thestral shit! They would write songs about it.

"You may never have her heart," Riddle observed, curiously. "There's something there I sense … a barrier of some sort. Interesting magic, especially for a Mudblood. Not that it should matter to you."

"It doesn't, Exalted One."

"Good. Take what you want from her and get rid of the scum once you are done," said Riddle.

"Is it dangerous? This barrier … or what it's guarding against?" asked Ron.

"Only if Harry Potter comes back from the grave," Riddle spat, mirthlessly. "It has something to do with him, that much is certain. I can feel his filthy signature coursing through it. Perhaps he has stored something behind it, who knows. I never did learn what this mythical ' _power-he-knows-not'_ might have been. He could have hidden it here for all we know. He was close to this Mudblood, yes?"

"He was, O … _thou_ ," Ron offered, almost grovelling as he searched for a term of endearment worthy enough.

"Hmm," Riddle considered. "There's power in this abhorration of magic you married, Weasley. It's linked to Potter on a very profound level. If he ever returned, he might find a way to utilise it."

"Such a thing is impossible, my Lord," said Ron earnestly. "You destroyed that half-blood, half-wit!"

Riddle chuckled deeply in response. "It was a great day. But he still has support out there. And magic has all sorts of wild possibilities."

"So … Harry _could_ come back?" Ron asked, somewhat aghast.

"I, myself, have mastered the Necromantic Arts," said Riddle. "One can never say never where such magic is concerned. And those who fail to plan can only plan to fail. This … _thing_ … inside your Mudblood wife … it concerns me. And, under Potter's influence, she tends to become extremely powerful … you did come very close to wounding me, young Weasley. Do not think I have forgotten that."

"We were blind, misguided, foolish," Ron pleaded, quailing under Riddle's menacing inference. "We did not know the true way … the Way of Your Light. But we have atoned … we continue to atone … to seek forgiveness for our mistakes. Please … tell me what I must do, and I will do it."

"You must give her to me," said Riddle coldly.

"You ... you want to have Hermione?" said Ron in surprise. "But … my Lord … forgive my impudence … but you promised her to me … for giving you McGonagall … for giving you the orphaned child of the werewolf, Lupin."

Harry's heart stopped cold in his throat. Ron had done … what the fuck had he done this time? Harry was beyond anger, the stunned shock was completely holding him. He took a series of empty, steadying thoughts to rein his fury in … he might give Hermione an aneurysm if he lost control of himself in here.

"And she is your prize well earned," Riddle was saying. Harry struggled to drag his mind back to the scene. "But she is also a danger to me. I cannot allow this."

"Of course, O King," said Ron, bowing his head. "She is yours."

"As must you be," said Riddle.

"I ... I don't understand," Ron stammered.

"I ordained your marriage," said Riddle. "Your Matrimonial Bond contains my signature."

"And what a blessing it is, Lord," Ron simpered, bowing lower.

"A blessing I have another need for," Riddle went on, ignoring Ron's quest for favour. "You will open up your Bond to me ... and I shall make myself _part of it_. I will draw its power to help protect something very important to me. Should Potter ever return, he will need to destroy the roots of this protection if he is foolish enough to try and resume his fight with me. I'm telling you a very great secret, Weasley, and bestowing upon you a great honour. You and your filth wife will forever protect the soul of your Immortal Lord."

Ron fell to his knees. "Oh thank you, Lord, _thank you_! You will not regret it. We will prove the error of our ways, show that we are the most loyal, most loving supporters of your Greatness."

"You had better," said Riddle. "Or you will suffer my wrath."

Ron quivered under the look Riddle gave to him just then. And the scene dissipated away.

Harry slumped to his knees and tried to process all he'd just seen. He knew what it meant, but didn't want to think about it. Instead, he had to think of a way _around_ it. But there didn't seem to be one. Harry's mind span at the implications. Riddle might just have out-thought him on this one. What was the answer?

The prophecy was clear … Harry had the power to defeat the Dark Lord, and his parents had taken steps to make sure Riddle couldn't kill _him._ But was there more to it? Could Harry access an _actual_ power source? One so devastating that Riddle had no defence against it? And was that power somehow locked _inside_ Hermione? That didn't make any sense. If she was so important, surely the prophecy would have mentioned her.

But wasn't that why his Mum and sent Harry back? To get Hermione? Did she know more than she'd let on about her when she coaxed him off that train to the afterlife? Harry's brain swam at all this new information. He couldn't process it. And he couldn't discuss it with anyone, stuck here as he was in Hermione's mind.

He had to get out, he was frantic with the necessity of it now. Hermione was in the gravest of dangers … and if she did something stupid, or if Neville made her … Harry couldn't look that reality in the face. There had to be a way out, there just had to be. If only someone could see him in here. _See him_ … of course! Harry clapped a hand to his forehead. This would be hard, it would definitely hurt like hell, but it might be the only way.

He settled down cross-legged again, slowing his breathing, steadying his heart, reaching deep inside in this practiced rhythm.

He just hoped would be enough to let him reach _out_.


	29. Internal Affairs

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Hermione blinked as the darkness cleared and she clutched at her chest. She felt as though her entire being had been squeezed through that feeling you get when missing a step on the stairs. Her chest felt tight, her breathing laboured, and there was a jittery shiver that was racing along her skin from head to toe and back again. It took a good few seconds for her to settle down and assess her surroundings.

She found that she was sat on a sloping lawn, well manicured, which led uphill to a large manor house of some considerable size in the distance. It was night, and the moon dappled the dark grass with a tint of silver. Up ahead, the many windows of the house were all lit and Hermione could see figures moving in them, quite indistinct from this range. There were more silhouettes on the terrace and in the gardens surrounding the house, and the light sound of an orchestral waltz drifted to Hermione on the breeze.

It was as if the house were playing host to a ball or reception of some sort, and Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she, herself, was somehow invited.

She looked behind her as she tried to decide what to do, and caught a surprised breath in her throat. For she was sat on the banks of a wide, fast flowing river, and on the other side was … nothing. She couldn’t see through a curtain of thick, dense fog, unable to tell if that bank was lush and fertile as this one, of merely miles of endless black desert. It was a jarring thought.

Hermione decided her best bet lay in the manor house up ahead, so she stood and struck out for it. The road to get there led through elaborate gardens and Hermione stopped to consider new marvels as she passed through them. Every tree was resplendent in rose-pink blossoms, or groaning under the weight of golden apples; there were fountains of champagne-coloured water, which actually turned out to _be_ champagne when Hermione tried a palm full as she grew thirsty, and a pond where rainbow-coloured fish with peacock-feather-type fins jumped and frolicked in the air as if to welcome Hermione on her journey.

“What is this place?” she wondered aloud, as she watched a reddish-purple unicorn graze on silver grass nearby.

Hermione moved on, past a rockery of moonstones with gently tinkling mini waterfalls, past a giant chessboard which looked like the last game had only just finished, and under a winding arch of roses with flowerbeds of lilies and daffodils flanking it on either side.

And after passing all of this, Hermione found that she had gone hardly any distance at all.

She turned out of logical caution, just to make sure she hadn’t lost her way, only to find that she’d barely moved from her original spot. She was still a stone’s throw from the river, even though she’d been walking away from it for at least three-quarters of an hour. She huffed and took a single step back … and found that she was _exactly_ where she had started.

“What in the hell?” Hermione huffed out loud. “What is this place?”

She took a step forwards and found herself in the midst of the garden again, only now some people were ambling around her, admiring the flowers or dipping glasses into the champagne fountains. Hermione strode towards them, eager for answers.

“Excuse me, could you tell me how to reach the party, please?”

But the black-haired man simply ignored her. She might as well not have existed for all the attention he gave to her.

“Well, _that_ was rude,” Hermione muttered, as the man moved off.

She spotted another man, one with startling emerald eyes, picking a flower from one of the gardens. He turned it critically against the lights hanging from one of the trees, seemed satisfied with his choice and made to move off. Hermione positioned herself in his way, but he simply rounded her without looking at her, as though she were merely as natural an obstacle as one of the fountains.

“What’s going on? Why can’t anyone see me?” Hermione considered, crossly. “And why can’t I get any further?”

She thrust her hands to her hips to deliberate on the problem, when a voice abruptly startled her from behind.

“You’ll never reach the house, if that's what you are trying to do. Not in your state, anyway.”

Hermione span on her heel to see who had addressed her … and promptly lost her breath. For the man looking back at her might have been a clone of Harry. Black haired, bespectacled, that cheeky grin on his face that Hermione remembered him sometimes wearing … well, when he had something to be cheeky about. She had no doubt who this was.

“Mister … P-potter?” Hermione stumbled.

“Oh, please, call me James! I was never mature enough to be called _Mister Potter!”_ James Potter replied with a chuckle.

“I can vouch for the truth of _that_ statement!”

Hermione span again in utter astonishment. For there, leaning on the fountain that had a second ago been empty, was Lily Potter. Hermione just goggled at her a moment.

For a few seconds, all Hermione could do was blink at Harry’s mother. She had the most astonishing eyes. Emerald green, of course, and sparkling with energy and vivacity. Hermione couldn't look directly at them for very long. They were almost blinding. Lily had a complex, delicate sort of smile, giving her an understated beauty which was at once hard to spot, but mesmerising once you did.

And Hermione understood immediately why Harry had been so enchanted with his own mother. It was very hard to look away from her.

For the longest time, Hermione didn't know what to say. She felt shy, nervous in Lily’s presence for some reason. But calm also. Lily Potter had a magical sort of energy around her. It was like a magnet, and Hermione felt drawn to it, even if she didn’t know what she was supposed to say now she was here.

But it was Lily who broke the silence.

"It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, Hermione."

“You know who I am!” Hermione squeaked. Why had she squeaked? It was so unbecoming. She blushed and turned her eyes down in her embarrassment.

“Of course we do,” said James, moving to sit on the fountain with his wife. “You are the love of our little boy’s life … that’s the kind of thing a parent likes to know about! And we are so glad to finally meet you.”

Hermione blushed hotter still. She had a million things to ask, but didn’t know which one to start with. In the end, she went with the logical first question.

“It's actually incredible to be able to meet you!" Hermione exclaimed. "I cant quite believe I managed to do the ritual properly, but this isn't where I expected to end up. What is this place, and why cant I reach the house?”

“You’re a clever girl ... you've probably worked out a pretty good idea of where you are,” Lily smiled. “If only from the people you’ve seen.”

“They are all people like Harry … or members of his _family!_ ” Hermione breathed in wonder as she understood. “Are they his _ancestors_ up at the house?”

“Well done,” James grinned. “A thousand generations of Potters … well, what are _now_ known as Potters. They go by some other names, too. I’m sure you’ve heard of one or two.”

“And why cant I get there?” Hermione asked.

“Because you aren’t a Potter … yet,” Lily replied with a warm smile. “In any case, you don’t really want to join the party too soon … because the only way to gain admittance is to be … _dead_.”

“Oh my!” Hermione quailed.

“Hey, it’s not all bad,” James quirked. “We have couples Twister on Wednesdays, movie night every Sunday and drunken Pin The Tail On The Donkey every Bank Holiday Monday. It’s not so awful … so long as you can put up with Merlin. He’s such a _gossip_ … you wouldn’t believe it. Only last week he was telling Rowena that Sirius had stolen all of her clean underwear just to stir trouble.”

“But he _did_ steal her underwear,” Lily pointed out.

“Yes, but only because Godric wants her to be Santa Claus in this year’s play, and that was his idea of a subtle hint … St Knicker-less … get it?”

Hermione giggled at that, but Lily just rolled her eyes at her husband.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Lily fretted. “I fear we may be putting you off joining the Potter family after all!”

“No, Mrs Potter, it will take a lot more than immature antics like _that_ for me to not want to marry your son!” Hermione reassured her.

“You will call me ‘Lily’, or I wont answer a single one of the questions that you have for me,” Lily admonished, good-naturedly. "You wish to take my place and become the next Potter matriarch, don't you? It will all get very confusing if we aren't comfortable enough with each other to use our first names."

Hermione blushed again. “Then it is still possible? Harry isn't lost to me?”

“Of course he isn't,” Lily smiled. “But only you can open up the bridge to bring him back.”

Hermione slid down onto a nearby bench as warm relief pulsed all through her. Then she looked back up at the Potters again. "Is it a bridge to the house? Is that where Harry is?"

"What did we tell you about the nature of the guests up there?" Lily cajoled.

"They are all dead," Hermione huffed. "So Harry can't be there, can he?"

"He can't," Lily confirmed.

"So how do I open this bridge?" Hermione queried. "And where does it even go?" 

"Ah, now that's something we can neither tell you nor do for you," James grinned. "You have to work out what it is, design it, then build the bridge all by yourself."

"But we will help you in any way we can," Lily added. "Just know that this bridge is all about _you._ It starts with you and, as long as the foundations are strong, you will know where to take it."

"But why do I get the feeling that my 'foundations' aren't strong?" Hermione pressed. "I can hear that suggestion in your voice."

"Well, do _you_ believe that your emotional foundations are solid? Isn't that one of the other things that you're just dying to ask us about?"

Hermione swallowed shyly "Can I? Can I ask about that?"

"You can," Lily nodded. "And we will do our best to answer you."

“I have so many questions, I don’t know which to ask first,” Hermione replied.

“Yes you do,” Lily disagreed. “So ask it.”

Hermione gulped. “Alright … little Celesca Lovegood told me that Harry loves me more than I do him. I didn't believe it, until I felt it. I could feel that I was holding back at the last hurdle ... but it's a hurdle that Harry has already crossed, and I don't know how to, or why I'm rearing up from even making the jump. And every fibre of me wants to copy Harry and leap over the final fence and join him.

"So, I suppose what I want to ask is ... you told Harry that he was in love with me, that he had to come back and win me, and he just completely accepted it. How did you know … especially when Harry _didn’t_? And how did you convince him of that truth?”

Lily sighed. “Ah, the first question is the most painful one. I knew how Harry felt about you because I recognised _love_. I knew love not only from my own family, but later from James ... even though it took me a while to warm up to him. In my youth I had beauty and talent, and I flaunted it. I defied James for so long because we were so alike. I wanted him to be _my_ trophy, not the other way around. Merlin, how we fought in the early years! But he put up with the worst parts of me, just so he could see the best … and I knew then that it meant love and that I ought to give him a chance.

“I see how you are with my Harry … how you have always been with him … and it reminds me of James and I, in many ways. You've done so much good for our son, improved him in every aspect of his life, and I could never thank you enough if I had a million years to do it."

Hermione had never flushed so much in her life. She was sure every inch of her skin was glowing in a varying degree of scarlet.

"He's worth every effort," Hermione mumbled, shyly. "Though he can be very trying at times."

Lily laughed. "What lover isn't? But you are the best match that he could possibly have. I can't tell you how thrilled I am that you both realise it now. That you realise what you are to each other."

“But you said that pointing this out to Harry was painful,” Hermione pressed. “In what way?”

“You asked how I knew that Harry was in love when he didn’t know himself?” Lily asked. “Well, he was ignorant to it because … he didn’t _know_ real love. He had never been loved in any way that he remembered, he didn’t know what it looked like. So he couldn’t recognise it when it was staring him right in the face … with you. He assumed he had been loved as a baby, but that was as far as it went.

“That sister of mine, who will answer to me when she finally reaches the afterlife, was no example of love,” Lily scythed. “She showed Harry disdain and then abuse from almost the word ‘Go’. She was no model of familial love for him. Then Harry wasn’t permitted friends, either by Petunia or her son, who bullied and battered Harry and made others wary of befriending him, just in case they suffered the same. So until Hogwarts, Harry knew of no affection in his life whatsoever.”

“Oh my God!” Hermione cried, throwing her hands to her mouth. “I never knew Harry suffered so much as a child! The poor thing!”

“It’s far worse even than that,” James stabbed, acridly. “But I know that Harry would prefer you not to know all of the hideous details, so it’s not for us to go against his wishes. He may tell you one day … in fact, I hope he does. It isn’t fair for us to ask you to play therapist to our boy, but they are wounds he needs to heal. And you may be the only person he ever trusts enough to disclose the full, horrific nature of that nightmare to.”

“If he lets me help him, I absolutely will,” Hermione nodded faithfully. “My poor Harry!”

“So, as I said, Harry didn’t know what genuine affection looked like,” Lily went on. “Then he met you and, after a false start or two, you became friends. But he didn’t know how to act, when you were looking out for his best interests in that first year, telling him not to fly up to confront Draco Malfoy or to foolishly sneak out to duel him later … you were telling him off. He knew what that was, and where it led … so he rebelled against you at first. No-one had ever tried to be good to him just because they wanted to, so he was suspicious. He didn’t know he could be told off for his own good ... to him it was always just as a punishment.”

“Then you became friends after the troll at Halloween,” James took over. “But that made Harry even more confused. You showed him kindness, offered to help with his homework and things. You’re an assertive girl, and Harry wasn’t sure if you’d be cross with him if he refused your offers, and even more worried that he wouldn’t measure up to your kindness even if he did. He’d not been shown kindness before, had never had someone in his life willing to help him succeed. You might as well have been an alien species to him.”

“Exactly,” said Lily. “And because Harry had never seen these things that you were bringing to him, he didn’t know how to respond properly. I know you’ve never held it against him, for him never thanking you for all the numerous things you’ve done for him, large and small, but Harry feels terribly guilty for taking you for granted. He knows your true worth to him now, but he thinks it’s too late to express his heart-deep gratitude for you always being _you_ … in any way that would do it suitable justice.”

Hermione sucked in a sudden sob. That was unexpected. Her heart ached for Harry so much in that moment … she just wanted to hug all this silly worry out of him.

“And so, Harry went along with his life,” Lily continued. “He had you right there … caring for him, worrying for him, standing by him when no-one else would. But he still didn’t know what that meant because he had no frame of reference. He took his cues from Ron and the other boys around him. He thought that prettiness was all there was to attraction … but even his idea of pretty was tainted by the folly of adolescent boys.”

“Ron hadn’t noticed you were a _girl_ , in the proper sense,” James went on. “And so Harry didn’t either. But, at the same time, you’d done things for Harry that he never told Ron about, things he kept so private he'd never tell anyone. You’d become his voice of reason and conscience. If Harry was doing wrong or not trying hard enough, he’d feel guilty over what _you_ would think about it. Nobody else, just you. And if Harry was considering a reckless action, he’d be put off if the voice in his head … which was _your_ voice, by the way … told him not to.

“And that, Hermione, is the mark of a love so deep that it transcends conscious understanding. Or, at least, it did with our Harry.”

Hermione was blubbering with emotion by this point. “H-he did all that? He never said ...”

“He did,” Lily smiled, kindly. “Though our Harry can be a bit thick sometimes! But you cant blame him for not knowing how to recognise true love … not when he had never had a mechanism for understanding it.

“So, when he came to me, I just had to tell him in blunt terms. He loved, and loved so deeply that he accepted it without acknowledging it. I pointed out to him all of the things we have said to you, and I asked him to think about it. And he did. And do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“ _Harry_ realised that he was in love with you, without any blatant prompting,” Lily replied. “It was like a veil had been lifted from him. I never said the words to him … I never told him ‘ _you're in love with Hermione Granger’_. I just asked him to look into his heart, to see which girl resided there, which one he cared and hoped for the most. I asked him to imagine a world without her, or if he would ever want any other girl to take her place in his life. He didn’t want either, passionately rebelled against both ideas.

“And when he calmed, he knew … he knew that he’d always loved you. And he brought _himself_ back to life, leapt off that ghostly train to try and earn your love in return, and then become consumed by it. So, in reality ... I did _nothing_. It was all him, his love for you was just that strong ... and he was desperate to see if he could make you feel it too.”

Hermione covered her eyes then and allowed herself to weep profusely. She was certain that she might explode with all this emotion swelling up inside her. She felt full to bursting with it. But she knew something else, too ... that something was _healing_ inside. It had to be the only explanation, because she felt herself falling even deeper in love with Harry with each passing second, a feat she would have deemed impossible a few hours ago.

Then Lily came up and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You can let it go, Hermione … this fear that you've carried around for _so_ long," she whispered softly. "You can allow yourself to now. You can stop worrying that Harry wont love you back as much as you love him, because he’s so far past love that _you_ are now the one who needs to catch up to _him …_ _let it go.”_

And she did, whatever it was … and the release made Hermione screech out with joyous relief. How _long_ had she been holding her emotions back like this? She felt as though a lead weight had risen from her heart, it was actually difficult to get used to the lightness for a moment.

After a minute or so, James came over and squeezed Hermione's other shoulder comfortingly. "Feel better?"

Hermione smiled up at him tearily. “Is … is that what that was? The restriction that little Celesca mentioned? Is it ... _gone_?”

“It is,” Lily beamed. “We just had to help you get rid of it ... together. You're the love of our little boy's life, the girl he wants so much to marry. And we would be so, _so_ proud, to have you as our daughter-in-law."

Hermione's lip trembled. "Mrs Potter … am I allowed to … to hug you … here?"

"Yes, I think -"

But the sentence was lost somewhere in Hermione's expanse of wild hair, as she clobbered Lily with an almighty bear hug. Lily was stunned at first, then simply laughed as Hermione squeezed her tight. She returned the hug warmly, until Hermione eventually disentangled herself and slid away bashfully.

"I … I-I cant tell you how much that means to me," Hermione stuttered through raspy sobs. "To h-hear you say that. Harry wants so much to be approved of by you … a-and so do I. I want to be worthy of his love, and for you to think that I am."

Lily smiled warmly at Hermione. "I do, we both do, James and I. That's why I had to make Harry go back to you. It wasn't just for him … it was for you as well."

Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "For me? What do you mean?"

"Hermione, honey, I've watched Harry confuse his feelings for you since he saved you from that troll when he was just eleven," said Lily. "He threw himself into mortal danger for a girl that he hardly knew. What would make him do that? Some vague sense of moral idiocy? No, not even James was that stupid. And Harry hasn't gone quite that crazy for anyone else, has he? He acted to save you out of instinct, as if it were somehow natural for him to do so. Is that something we should ignore? No, I've come to think that there's much more to your connection than meets the eye.

"Harry was drawn to you, maybe you were drawn to each other. So I had to know who you were, what this burgeoning force between you was all about. I watched you closely, both on your own and during your interactions with my son. And Harry just kept doing it, kept putting himself in harm’s way to try and protect you. It was practically an innate reaction for him, I could see that much. But then you started protecting him right back, in subtle ways and brave ways, but always with his best interests close to your heart.

"I knew then that there was something special about you, about your relationship. Meeting you is the best thing to have ever happened to him, in ways he still doesn't fully understand or appreciate yet. You have made him into a better man, made him _want_ to be better, just for you, without him really knowing that you were his motivation all along. Have you noticed how he seeks your approval in everything? How all that he does is for you in some way? He just didn't realise why that was the case until I helped him to see it."

"What does that all mean?" Hermione asked, her voice the tiniest it had been in her natural life. "What are you trying to say?"

"Only that I think that Harry has been in love with you his entire life, before he even met or knew you," Lily replied. "You bring to him everything he lacks … coolness, logic, reason. You make him _think_ , whereas normally he lets his heart and passion run away with him. And you … he stirs your _heart_ , lets it dominate where your wonderful mind usually has control. Don't you see? You are two halves of a greater whole … one mind, one heart … and together you make one _soul_."

Hermione couldn't think straight as the words hit her. It made such utter sense, such a ridiculously veritable truth that it might as well have been a divine proclamation. Harry was, quite literally, her _other half_. How had she not known it before, not seen it for what it truly was? It was a truth that screamed through every fibre of her being now. But, still, that barrier …

"If that's true, why can't I let him in fully though?" Hermione asked, desperately. "I so want to.”

"You know why … you were scared,” Lily told her, gently. “You took steps to avoid that fear. Now it’s a barrier in your way. You have to face your terrifying love for my son … again. Only this time, you have to face yourself too, and conquer your fears over both. Then you will love him as fully as you are able."

"I did this … to myself?" asked Hermione, confused. "I don't remember that. Oh … did I remove my own memory?"

"You really are the smartest witch of your age," said Lily, approvingly. "You thought of everything. But it’s actually turned out rather in our favour."

"I cant join fully with your son, I see that as a total loss!" Hermione countered.

"It’s just a spell … an enchantment we have now begun to undo," Lily smiled. "The last part can't be completed in this place, but it will be done. And another thing it has done is protected you from Harry … or from Harry being _weaponised_ against you. Tom Riddle always underestimated how violent a power love could be."

“I’m not sure I understand that,” Hermione frowned.

“I know, but _Harry_ does,” James cut in. “Right now he’s viewing your memories of when this happened, and he will want to heal you when he talks to you about it. But this is _your_ magic … and only you can fully remove it.”

“What do you mean _Harry is viewing my memories?”_ Hermione demanded. “How?”

“Right now, our son is trapped … _inside_ your mind,” Lily explained. Hermione could only gasp at that. “To deal with all the horrors you’ve endured, your mind split without you knowing it. It helped you cope with all the abuses that were visited upon you. I know what you suffered, Hermione … I even sat _through_ some with you … tried to hold your hand, tried to tell you it would be alright …”

At this point Lily broke off, then broke down in tears of her own. James tried to console her as best he could.

But Hermione was looking at her in shocked wonder. “I _knew_ … sometimes, I didn’t feel like I was alone when things were happening to me. That was _you_?”

“Oh, Hermione!” Lily cried. “I did my best! I tried so hard to make you feel me … but these spells had closed you off to us.”

“What spells?” Hermione asked, gently squeezing Lily’s hand when she offered it.

“The first one was courtesy of Mr Dolohov,” James explained, mimicking Harry’s bitterest tone. “His spell robbed you of emotion, stopped you caring. When you were hit with it, your body … particularly your heart … stopped giving a damn. It shut down and you collapsed.”

“Oh my ... is _that_ what the spell did? I suppose that’s why many of my healing potions were for pulmonary ailments!” Hermione cried. “Potions to regulate my heartbeat, for blood flow, for my blood to take in enough oxygen. I never was told about that.”

“Exactly,” Lily nodded. “But it went further than that. It robbed you of care and, in particular, care for _Harry_. Dolohov cast the spell with that intent, to stop you fighting for him.”

“Oh my God!” Hermione breathed. “And did … did that effect stay? I mean, after I recovered physically? Is that why I backed away from Harry during our Sixth Year? I always felt like I was acting unnaturally and irrationally, but I just couldn't seem to stop myself.”

“It certainly influenced you,” Lily confirmed. “And your fear did the rest. It wasn’t until Harry came back into your life recently that the damage was repaired, but it wasn't through any spell or magic that he did. It was the love you now share ... it is the _counter-curse_ to Dolohov’s malicious magic. His spell with charged with hate … but love has healed you. All that remains is for you to lift the curse you placed on yourself.”

“And how do I do that? I don't even know what it was.”

“By making yourself whole again,” Lily explained. “Harry cant help you with this, as much as he wants to. He knows that this is nothing to do with him, and all about you. You created a barrier to stop yourself being hurt by him emotionally, and this, bizarrely, stopped your husband and Tom Riddle truly using Harry to exploit you. It stopped you from completely _feeling_ for him.

“And that still remains. But _you_ have to heal … you have to accept what has happened to you, and master it however you can. Pain doesn't just go away, it needs to be absorbed, assessed, then healed. Then you have to learn to love yourself again … to let go of all the irrational blame that you place upon yourself for what you went through … then, and only then, can you permit love to completely re-enter your life. You have to allow yourself to trust again, to love wholly and not be beaten by hate and fear. Harry will be there for whatever you need from him … but this is your battle, one we all know you can win. You have all of our love as your support network.”

“But how do I fight myself?” Hermione asked. “It sounds so hard.”

“Only by realising that you survived,” James smiled, kindly. “That you had the strength to endure and that you never gave in. You faced hatred and malice, but you prevailed. And you are so loved, Hermione, by all of us. But by Harry most of all. You are his inspiration, the source of his strength and his power. He wants nothing more than to measure up for you.”

“How can that be?” Hermione cried, incredulously. “He gives _me_ strength and power!”

“Which is why you are so well matched,” Lily cooed. “Harry isn’t the magical solution to your problems, any more than you are to his … but together, you can confront and conquer anything. Harry has bravely placed his heart in your hands … trusting it will be safe there. All you need is to do the same … _own_ his love, Hermione, be selfish with it, and let him own yours in return.”

“I … I can do that,” Hermione smiled. “I _will_ do that.”

She took a heaving breath, commanded her magic to do her bidding in the way that Harry had shown her how, and ordered her own spell to break with the exhale. And, just like that, it _did_.

Hermione felt a greyish sort of spell lift from her … and a floodgate of emotion opened in her heart. It wasn’t all good. She felt exactly as she had done when she was sixteen … first admitting being in love with Harry and utterly terrified of it. Then she felt angry as she remembered Harry going mental over that hoe Ginny Weasley, even though she hadn’t felt so vitriolically possessive at the time.

And then she was hit with a torrent of feelings, all powerful, all confusing, all overwhelming. Ron leaving the tent, exposing her secret desires to Harry’s face when she had to choose between the two boys in her life, crying for weeks that Harry must surely have worked out her feelings for him by now and still did nothing about it, and what that must mean.

Then it was Harry’s death, the breaking of her own heart, then the breaking of her mind to cope with the abuses she suffered under. By the time she was done, Hermione felt utterly exhausted. She felt shivery and hugged into herself. She knew this battle had only just begun, but she would conquer it ... she utterly would. She sighed and rested back against the bench, the first stone of this bridge to Harry firmly in place.

"Lay down and rest, Hermione," Lily encouraged, gently. "When you wake up, everything will start to look better. I promise."

"Is Harry safe, inside my mind?" Hermione asked, laying her head on Lily's lap and trying to wrap her head around the weirdness of her own question.

"He is, but he will have no more of an idea of how to get out that you will have of getting in," Lily replied, smoothing Hermione's curly locks in a motherly fashion. "He will know his situation is unique, and things that he has had to do to his own mind wont work for you. You need a new solution."

"Then how will we do it?"

"Like everything else where you are concerned ... you will do it _together_ ," Lily replied, sweetly. "Sleep now, and let your mind work on the problem. Focus on fixing yourself first, then you can open up and reach any part of you that you wish, including where Harry is stuck."

"Thank you, Mrs Potter ... for all that you've told me, for everything," Hermione yawned, drowsily.

"Please call me Lily."

"I will ... but only when _I'm_ Mrs Potter, too," Hermione promised.

"I'll hold you to that deal," Lily smiled. "Now, sleep."

And three seconds later, Hermione knew no more. 


	30. Neville's Tale

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The ritual to visit the Potter’s own personal corner of the afterlife totally wiped Hermione of energy, and confined her to bed for the next two days. The first thirty hours of these were actually spent asleep, and the rest was spent under the cross little eye of Sally, who refused to let her Mistress get up until she had decided she was fit enough.

Eventually, Sally relented and allowed Hermione to recover in a sat upright position, namely in a seat at Harry’s bedside in the Infirmary. It bothered her just how much time she had spent in this room in her short residence at the Blue Palace and she resolved that this particular stay would be the last time. Harry would just have to take better care of himself once he woke up, otherwise Hermione would have to start telling him off.

But the act of getting him to wake in the first place was now the dominant goal in Hermione’s mind. She sat at his side by the hour, boring her gaze into his motionless eye, willing him to see it through her own vision and somehow find his way back into his own body.

For despite the start she had made with the Potters, Hermione had no idea how she was supposed to build this bridge inside her to get Harry out. She did feel a lot better in many ways, a lot more open. It was as if her heart were recovering from a heavy cold, and now that the mucus was clearing she was able to see the parts that it had been clogging up.

But there was good and bad with that, for Hermione could see now that for all of Harry’s good intentions, she still wasn’t anything like recovered from her five years of imprisonment at Ron’s hands. And until she was, this new space inside her would fiercely resist any intention Harry might have been harbouring to fill it.

And it was this fact that she was discussing with Enola that afternoon. Hermione had decided that Enola’s adroitness with cerebral magic made her the best person to bounce ideas off to try and find a way to recover Harry, but so far she was only telling her things she didn’t want to hear.

“You’re sure that’s what Lily said?” Enola tried to clarify. “That Harry is adrift in your mind?”

“Positive … _again_ ,” Hermione replied, for it was the third time Enola had asked. “She didn’t say how he got there, but that’s where he is.”

“But it shouldn’t be possible,” Enola frowned. “If you and Harry were both occupying your mind, you’d go insane within the hour. You wouldn’t be able to handle the collision of thought.”

“But Harry is in a part of my mind that I accidentally created to cope with my abuses,” Hermione explained. “It sounds like one of your mind plains, to me, and I wouldn’t hear his thoughts in there, would I?”

“Maybe, but if it _is_ , it might be even worse than some of Harry’s,” Enola pondered, fretfully.

“How so?”

“It’s like this, Min,” Enola began, nibbling on a peanut cookie. “When we created Harry’s mindscape each plain was designed like a stage. It had rules, parameters … we knew what each one would look like. But whatever this thing is in your mind, it’s just _there_. It will be a blank space, light or dark, and we have no way of knowing if it has anything else or not. And on top of that, it's showing Harry bad memories, possibly the ones Ron is trying to stir in you to keep you feeling worthless and beaten. That might be enough to drive Harry mad after too long.”

“I think I see what you mean,” Hermione mused. “It would be like being trapped in a cloud or the densest fog and that blandness would be maddening.”

“Exactly,” Enola nodded. “And with no way to move or escape. I don’t think I need to tell you how bad it is to be trapped in darkness for too long. You and my Nev have that experience in common.”

Hermione shuddered at the memory, of those days she'd spent in the Dark Room at the Hengest Manor. It wasn’t an image that was easy to shift, but it brought her back on topic.

“In any case, it isn’t finding Harry that’s the issue, it’s getting to him I’m more concerned about,” Hermione went on. “How am I supposed to build a bridge inside myself?”

“Oh, that bit will be easy,” Enola chirped, off-handedly. “I can show you how to do that. I have had to tunnel into Harry’s mind plenty of times, but we built that first tunnel together.”

“Then what is the hard bit?”

“Opening it up once you’re in,” Enola explained. “And, if what Lily said is right, you have to make sure you are strong enough to avoid a full emotional breakdown when you do.”

Hermione gasped at that. “Is that possible?”

“Of course it is. Mind and soul magic are some of the most complex and dangerous areas of sorcery you could ever dabble in. If you didn’t have to, I’d advise you against doing so in the strongest language that I’m capable of. But reading between the lines of what Lily has said, I have to insist that you be very, very careful with this, Hermione. Don’t do _anything_ unless you’re sure, and definitely not without me there to help. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Hermione muttered, faithfully. Enola using her full name for a change emphasised how serious she was about this, and Hermione appreciated the rise in her friend’s caution. “But what _do_ you think Lily meant, because I still don’t really know what to make of it.”

“She said that you broke part of yourself, as a coping mechanism,” Enola started. “Now, to _me_ , that sounds like a complete break … like you split your _entire_ personality. It would make a lot of sense, but it also makes the solution that much harder.”

“How so?”

“Because, like you said earlier, Harry taking your suffering obviously didn’t solve the problem,” Enola continued. “What that means, I think, is that although your pains went away, the emotional and mental damage remained, and are probably held in the same place where Harry is marooned in your mind. Harry and I took your physical and most of your magical wounds away, and though that eased your suffering, it didn’t deal with the deeper problem.

“Emotional and mental damage can only be healed so much by external forces. The majority of the repair has to be done _internally_ … by the victim. Which means that you are _still_ suffering, you’ve just forgotten about it, really. It is fundamentally the same as what I’ve done with Harry … he carries the darknesses of his life around with him, in little boxes in his mind, but they are still as debilitating and terrifying as when they happened to him. One day he will have to face them, just as you will have to face yours.”

Hermione felt a cool shiver of pity and fear cross her shoulders and pinch at her neck. “But if that’s true, how come Harry still loves me so completely, when I can’t fully open up the last fragment of me to him?”

“Because Harry has made _you_ his elixir, the light to fight his dark,” Enola explained, tenderly. “All he needs is your love, and he will have the power to destroy all the hate shown to him by everyone from his Aunt and Uncle through to Tom Riddle himself. All that remains to be done, now that he has what he needs, is to find the courage and the time to go into his mind and conquer his dark side.

“But for you, it’s different. If you did something magical to prevent yourself from getting hurt by Harry rejecting you, then essentially you've made keeping Harry at arm's length a component of who you are. To change that, you need to find a way to convince every bit of you that Harry wont hurt you now, so that this last part accepts Harry utterly into your heart.

"But that's going to be incredibly hard for you, because you are still hurting on a fundamental level, and don’t fully trust men or attention lavished on you by them because of how you've conditioned yourself to be, for your survival. You believed that Ron would love and protect you … and he blatantly destroyed that trust. Your female friends were also all abused by men in their own lives. Now you learn that Tom Riddle has some connection to your Marriage Bond, too, so you feel violated by that.”

“And what do I do about either?” Hermione asked, her voice tiny in self-pity.

“I really don’t know,” Enola whined, lowly. “It’s not as straightforward for you as it was for Harry. You cant place him as a panacea, because he represents the very thing that caused your ailments. Can you imagine what would happen if you got married, but at the key moment at the altar, or in bed on the wedding night, you rejected him at the last minute because of some crippling flashback to your last marriage? I can definitely see that happening, and the fallout it would cause.”

“Oh! I really don’t want that!” Hermione yelped. “But you’re right … it could happen, couldn’t it? Oh, En … what am I going to do? I don’t even know where to start!”

Just then the door to the Infirmary opened and two cups of tea floated in, followed by the arms and body of Neville, who was carrying them. He gave a pointed look to Enola, who made some flimsy excuse about needing to check on baby Alison and scuttled out of the room.

Neville crossed to Hermione and offered her one of the cups of tea.

“Peace offering?” he smiled, weakly.

“Were we at war?” Hermione replied, gratefully accepting the steaming mug. She eyed Neville with a shrewd expression, slightly suspicious at the way he'd silently dismissed his wife from the room.

Neville sighed deeply as he took the seat vacated by his wife. “I know you must be mad as hell at me, for jumping to such a quick decision about Harry. I know I would be, if you had suggested the same thing about Ennie. I don’t deserve forgiveness, but just know that I am sorry.”

“I am mad at you, Nev, I wont deny that,” Hermione replied, frankly. “But I’m open to listening, if you are prepared to explain why you were so quick to write your blood brother off.”

“That’s very forbearing of you,” Neville smirked. He sipped at his tea for a moment. “I never told you, did I, about what it was like during that last year of Hogwarts? The one you and Harry spent chasing Horcruxes?”

“No, you didn’t,” Hermione replied, surprised and curious as to where Neville was going with this.

“It was so hard,” Neville began, leaning back on his chair. “Luna and I became really good friends to start with. I think we gravitated towards each other, both socially awkward in our own ways, both treated like pariahs by our peers. We found friendship in each other, in the mutual love we’d had for being part of Dumbledore’s Army, and for Harry allowing us to be part of it. Most other people would have told us to sod off!”

Hermione laughed softly. “Hogwarts was as difficult as any school in those respects.”

“Maybe, but Luna and I had it worse than most. Anyway, when Snape was made Headmaster and the Carrows came in, the school became hellish. And without Harry to lead a revolt, the students were looking to others to lead the way. Oddly, it was Luna who stood up first, in her own way. She didn’t like the sort of Dark Arts homework her class was being set, so she decided not to do it. That was the first, tiny spark of resistance, and soon all us ex -DA members started doing it.

“Detentions were standard at first, but then Alecto reintroduced the Cane, quickly followed by the Dunce’s Cap as forms of punishment. Only, this wasn’t your ordinary Dunce’s Cap. This one was a helmet stolen from one of the suits of armour, and one of the Carrows installed a set on spikes on the inside. They didn’t quite touch your skin, unless you moved. And standing in front of the class for the entirety of a two-hour class with a heavy lump of steel around your skull will make even the most robust of heads bow eventually.

“But after every time I was forced to wear it, following some act of disobedience or another, I felt darkly empowered. Every time I trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower with my face cut and scratched, the collar of my robes soaked in my blood, I felt a small victory for having survived. Harry would be proud of me, I thought, and if he was still out there fighting, then we all should be, too.

“Why the students started looking to people like me and Seamus Finnigan I don’t know. Maybe it was because we’d been dorm mates with Harry, maybe everyone thought he’d taught us some secret magical fighting art. Whatever it was, suddenly I was their champion. Me, Neville Longbottom, who had been too afraid to say ‘Boo’ to Severus Snape, was now leading the resistance inside Hogwarts.

“And after they took Luna, I just snapped. She was good and pure and innocent, powerful as all hell mind you. She might not look it, but she is a seriously gifted witch. But they took her, and I couldn’t stand to think of what they were doing to her. Now that I _know_ … I’m glad I didn’t then … I might have gone mental.

“But I still took my cues from Harry,” Neville continued without drawing breath. “I wanted to be as brave as him, to spit in the face of the Carrows and take their whippings and come back for more. So I did, for Luna, for the school, holding out hope that Harry would come back and we’d finish the fight together.

“Then he did come back and I, like you, thought I’d seen him die. I lost my shit at that, cut the head of that fucking snake, not knowing that I was destroying a Horcrux at the time. Then I was spirited away to a Gringotts Vault for three days. When I got out, me and my Gran went on the run. But she was in her nineties, she wasn’t cut out for that.

“I don’t know if she knew about Harry or not … old magical people tend to have a weird sense about such things … but she died after six months of moving from place to place. It was peaceful, in her sleep … her old heart just gave out on her. But two months later, Harry turned up at the hostel I was kipping in. He’d spent weeks looking for me, and finally he’d found me.

“He told me what we needed to do, told me that he didn’t have a clue how we were going to do it, but that he needed me to be a big part of it. He believe … he bel … he …”

Neville stopped a moment, as he was in danger of choking up. Hermione felt hot tears rise behind her own eyes as she watched him struggle, as she listened to the reverence in the words Neville had for her love.

“He believed in me, Hermione,” Neville forced out, his voice on the verge of cracking. “Nobody ever believed in me, but Harry always did. Even when we were just eleven, and he was telling me I was worth twelve of Malfoy. He probably didn’t mean it back then, but he didn’t have to say it, either. He just did it anyway.

“And in both instances, Harry used his deadliest magic on me, Hermione … he gave me _hope_. It’s a dangerous power that, and whether he knows it or not, that’s just what Harry does. He gives you reason to hope, even when everything else screams at you that you shouldn’t.

“It’s what makes all that shit he’s gone through in life so unfair. How can a guy whose suffered so much still be able to give hope to a world that largely doesn’t deserve it from him? But he just does. That’s why, when he came back, I decided I wasn’t going to let him suffer anymore.”

“And that’s why you were prepared to let him die?” Hermione asked, sniffily. “So that he wouldn’t suffer in a lifeless state?”

Neville nodded and closed his eyes. “It was a pact we made, and I was determined to see it through if I had to … ever since that day that he just randomly turned up at the palace with my parents in tow. He’d just gone and gotten them for me … no warning, no hint … I just came downstairs to investigate a ward crossing and there they were. It’s an Act of Harry, through and through.

“It took us months to restore their minds. Harry and Ennie did most of the work, but I had to lend them my family link so they could get deep into their heads to fix the damage. Like you, they’d broken their internal selves to survive. Ennie likened it to trying to find every strand of a tapestry cut in half and then sewing them back together. It was painstaking work, and I had to hold their emotions steady as Harry and Ennie did the rest.

“So I ended up experiencing the last emotions my parents felt … the ones during their torture. I didn’t see what the Lestranges did to them, but I felt it as if I was there. First for Dad, then Mum. Then we had to give it back to them in small shots, just so they wouldn’t be overloaded again. Harry taught my Mum powerful meditation therapy to help. In then end, I began using the technique, too.”

“And did it help?” Hermione asked, a balloon of hope burgeoning in her chest that maybe this was something she could use.

“It did,” Neville nodded. “It helped me to see the truth … that I couldn’t _unfeel_ what I’d felt, and neither could my parents. The experience was part of us now, and we needed to absorb it and weave it in to who we were, who it had made us. It’s the only way to accept it … the only way to beat it.

“But Harry and I were in agreement, it was the worst form of torture … to lose your mind. He said that if it ever happened to him that I was to take steps to end his suffering as soon as I knew. He thought it would happen if his mind plains collapsed, half-expecting that you would reject him and trigger the implosion of his internal controls. He’d have nothing left to fight for if you did.”

“So, you were just doing what you thought Harry would want?” Hermione asked, slowly.

Neville nodded. “But I forgot myself. I forgot that where Harry is concerned, established rules don’t always apply … and that where you _both_ are concerned you might as well throw the rulebook into the fire. Harry will forgive me when he wakes, but if you don’t, I wont hold it against you.”

Hermione reached out and squeezed Neville’s hand consolingly. “I will consider you forgiven, if you teach me this meditation technique that Harry taught to you. I have to fix my own problems, Nev, and that might just be the tool I need to do it.”

“I absolutely will,” Neville nodded, keenly. “Enola told me what Lily said to you … it’s weird, and if it was anyone else I wouldn’t believe it, but as it’s you and Harry … hell, anything is possible!”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled. “And, for the record, Harry isn’t the only one who believes in you … _I_ believe in you, too, Neville Longbottom. You are very good.”

Neville swallowed hard, the lump evident in his throat. He went to say something else, but just then the doors to the Infirmary were flung open again. This time Patrick O’Brien and Sir David Pincott entered the room, and they were in the middle of a heated discussion … but when they explained what it was about it took a few tries for Hermione and Neville to process it.

Neville shook his head at Patrick again. His words didn’t make any sense.

“What do you mean … _an army_?” Neville asked again.

“Exactly what I said,” Patrick replied.

“Supporters of Tom Riddle have assembled an army … in _Ireland?_ ” Neville repeated.

“Yes.”

“Where did they find recruits?” Hermione asked, forcing calm into herself.

“America, mostly,” Patrick explained. “There are influential factions there who are hoping to learn the arts of population suppression from our Dark King. That’s an alliance we need to stop before it can take root.”

“It’s not just the Americans,” Sir David added, darkly. “I have heard through our underworld contacts that sleeper cells in continental Europe are primed to strike at primary targets in a co-ordinated attack. It will coincide with the assault launched on Britain from the base in Ireland.”

“And this picture …” said Neville, pointing at a photograph that Sir David was holding. It showed a piece of Muggle military hardware. “This is … _what_ , exactly?”

“A mobile missile delivery system,” Sir David explained. “And on top of it is a tactical nuclear warhead.”

“You re taking the piss!” Hermione yelled, grabbing the photo. “They aren’t going to _nuke_ England?”

“No, not England … _us_ ,” Sir David hushed, lowly. “God knows where they got it, but they will either fire it at us and see if our magical shields hold, or they’ll threaten to target a major city to force Harry to surrender.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Neville yelled. “We can’t allow this. We have to do something.”

“Where are the European Magical governments on this?” asked Hermione. “Surely they should be on our side. The International Confederation of Wizards may be able to help, especially if the sovereign European states are about to be attacked without warning. We need to get out of Britain, make contact. How do we do that?”

“ _We_ don’t,” said Neville.

“But Harry did,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yeah, and only him,” said Neville. “Harry was given special dispensation to cross the wards. But he’s a bit out of action right now … unless your little tea party with Harry’s parents yielded something you haven’t told me.”

“Nothing that we can enact quickly enough,” said Hermione. “But how did Harry negotiate an exit? He must have been in touch with someone on the outside.”

“No, it was more like they were _hoping_ he might come out,” said Neville. “They built a workaround into the ward … if a magical Potter tried to come out, the wards would let them. They thought that Harry might be reincarnated, or possess someone. It’s a bit fucked up, really … to this day I don’t know why they did that.”

Hermione grinned. “If I ever find out, I promise to tell you, but it plays to our favour now.”

“How so?”

“For if a Potter can _still_ get out, then we can get a message to the Confederation … through _me_.”

“That’s a sickly cute idea, Hermione” said Neville. “But that isn’t official. I don’t think it will work.”

“To hell with official,” Hermione huffed. “Harry and I … we are _one,_ in everything but the silly legalities. I am the other half of Harry’s _soul,_ Neville! I’ve always been his wife, always been a Potter … I just haven’t said that ‘ _I do_ ’ bit yet. Rhian!”

The elf popped next to Hermione in an instant. “Yes, Mistress?”

“You are Harry’s Head elf, yes?” asked Hermione.

“And be proud of it, Mistress,” said Rhian puffing out her little chest.

“So does that mean you’ve chosen to only answer to Harry?”

The elf considered her swarthily. “Obey Master Harry, yes … but also obey Mistress Hermione, too.”

Hermione smiled at her. “You don’t have to _obey_ anyone.”

“Rhian knows this,” said the elf. “But Rhian choose to serve Master Harry and Mistress Hermione. Rhian be proud to. The Potters be the bestest family … Rhian love being part of it.”

Hermione knelt down and smiled at her elf. “And we love you being part of our family, too. But why do you come to me, as well as Harry, if we aren’t married?”

“Mistress Hermione be Master Harry’s Lady, his mate, Lady of the House,” said Rhian. “Only missing a wedding … and a pretty ring … then can get rid of horrible Weasel name for good. Get yous proper name on.”

“And I’m so looking forward to that day,” Hermione beamed. “But is there anything else I can do in the meantime? To prove I’m Harry’s Lady? That I’m going to be Hermione Potter as soon as I can be?”

Rhian thought a moment. Then her bulbous eyes lit up. “Yous can wear the Potter family ring! Master Harry be getting it from Queenie Liz lately. Poor Queenie. Snake man be horrid wizard.”

“And how will that help?” asked Hermione.

It was Neville who answered. “Family jewellery is ancient and uniquely powerful. It can contain the accumulated power of all those who wear a piece throughout a family’s history. They are symbols of status, badges of office, and powerful as a result. Only someone who has been truly accepted into a family, by its own unique magic, can wear familial jewellery.”

Hermione grinned confidently. “Rhian, would you please retrieve Harry’s family ring for me?”

Rhian nodded, then hurried over to Harry’s bed. Thirty seconds later she was back, the red and gold encrusted ring in her hand. She offered it to Hermione.

“It come off easy,” said Rhian. “It knows it going to good hands.”

Hermione started at that. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the idea of inanimate objects that could think and feel for themselves, but she pushed the notion aside for now. She took the ring in trembling fingers. It was way too big for her own dainty digit, but she tried it anyway. And it slid on, resizing instantly as if it were designed for her.

And everyone in the room dropped to one knee, raising their wands in a gesture of salute.

Hermione blushed crimson and urged everyone back up. She flung out a hand to steady herself on Harry’s bed, as the flow of magic from the ring into her body was borderline overwhelming. It was almost too much for her to handle, but handle it she did. Then she turned to Neville.

“Do you know where Harry used to cross the international wards?”

Neville nodded. “I’ll get my cloak. Rhian, can you bring Myfanwy here, please?”

A minute later and the mousy-haired witch was standing before them.

“What’s up, Nev? I was just perming my hair, so this better be good,” Myfanwy smirked.

“Hermione is going to try and leave Britain, and I’m going to help her,” Neville stated, bluntly. “Tom Riddle has summoned an army to Ireland and we have to go to the ICW for help. Fan … I’m not going to lie, going outside the wards now is the kind of shit that could get you killed, but I’d really appreciate you having my back out there.”

“I am your sword and your shield, Lord Longbottom,” Myfanwy replied with a wink. “And that sounds like much more fun than fucking around with my bangs. When do we leave?”

“Right this instant,” Hermione replied for Neville. “We have no time to waste.”

“Lady, er, _Potter_?” Sir David asked, uncertainly. “Is there anything we can do while you’re gone?”

“Yes,” Hermione began. “Go to our refugees, see how fit they are. Anyone old enough and strong enough to wield a wand needs to be provided with one and initiated into a crash course in the fiercest combat magic you know. Even if they only know the basics, they can form a sort of Home Guard.

“At the same time, we need to reinforce the shield ward with specific magic to be able to survive a nuclear attack. Use the elves if they are willing, as we need every scrap of power we can get. Might as well get people to start digging up an underground shelter, just in case. We may not have much time, but it will give people something to do.”

“Very good, my Lady. Anything else?”

“Just one thing,” Hermione replied stoutly. “Go to Enola, as her to speak to Luna Lovegood. I want her to show her daughter around the Ritual Chamber,” said Hermione.

“For what purpose?” asked Neville, cocking his eyebrow curiously.

“Because, when I get back, me and little Celesca are going on a big girl’s trip,” said Hermione. “She’s going to take me deep into Harry’s mind … and I don’t want her to be frightened of the voyage.”

Neville nodded and they all turned and went their separate ways from the room, leaving Hermione to contemplate a terrifying voyage of her own. This wasn’t France for skiing … this was to possibly turn a magical civil war into a magical _world_ war.


	31. Fiddler's Bane

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The Port of Dover was packed as usual. Freight lorries, coaches full of Summer holiday makers and the cars of private travellers lined up on the Kent coast to board ferries to make the short crossing into continental Europe. It hardly seemed the most auspicious place for magical people to make the same journey, too, but this was the only _acknowledged_ route in or out of Magical Britain these days.

Hermione was eager for an explanation about this, and she had been assured that she would get one … just as soon as they mopped up these hapless Death Eater guards, who they had stumbled upon when trying to reach the Port. The silly fools had been blocking their way, and the trio of Team Potter members were just now finishing off the last of them.

Neville drove the Sword of Gryffindor into the face of a Section Seven Agent fallen at his feet. It was a mercy, really, after Myfanwy’s Blasting Curse had cracked his skull, leaving his body twitching and writhing rather disgustingly. Hermione, meanwhile, was busy transfiguring the tonsils of the Death Eater garrison commander into a large spike, which promptly burst free through a tear in his throat.

The sounds of his gargling for air, through a rush of blood, was really quite satisfying.

“I _so_ wish I had your imagination for things like that,” said Myfanwy, nodding approvingly at Hermione’s handiwork as the Death Eater guard crumbled to the ground. “I’m more of a blunt force trauma, bludgeoning sort of girl myself.”

“But you do it with such artistry!” Hermione grinned back, nodding at the three corpses turning cold behind her

“Well, that was fun!” Neville quirked, reaching down for a bit of Death Eater robe, which he used to clean the blood from his sword. “They actually put up a bit of a fight, too. Good for them!”

Hermione chuckled. “It broke up the monotony at least! You know, I’m surprised the crossing point is Dover. Seems too obvious, too open.”

“That’s sort of the point,” Neville explained. “When the European Council of Magic decided to raise Movement Wards around Britain they still faced a huge problem … the methods of travel used by Muggles. They last thing they wanted was for Dark Witches and Wizards to slip into Europe on planes and trains and ferries.

“So they decided to use the existing border controls. Airports were quite easy to police, mainly because you need passports, documentation to board flights. Most magicals don’t have such paperwork. And if they managed to acquire fake documents … or used hoodwinking magic to get around being without them … and got into the airport proper, they wouldn’t get very far.

“An elite team of Swedish wizards … who were good at modifying Muggle technology with magic … were tasked with getting into every airport in Britain and enchanting the security checkpoint gates with magic-detecting Charms before the Wards went up. That way, if someone passed through one, it would alert a special unit who were able to track the signal, and dispatch a Broom-Mounted Hit Team to board the flight once it left British airspace and arrest the magical before they could get anywhere.

“The Swedes were successful, but one of them was caught on the last mission. He didn’t confess to what he was doing … even after _stringent_ interrogation … and Riddle falsely concluded that he was simply trying to escape the country. So, as usual with his paranoia, he had his Death Eaters erect their own Wards around airports, to alert them of Magical Movement in order to prevent future escape attempts. He was convinced that there were European spies everywhere, so he made it illegal to travel abroad without his own hand-signed permission … which he never gave out once, so far as we know.”

“But this is a seaport,” Hermione pointed out. “We don’t go through electronic security here.”

“No, but it is the only point in the Restriction Ward where a doorway of sorts was put in,” Neville replied. “The E.C.M. have often needed to send ambassadors and emissaries to Riddle, and this is where they cross into Britain. Section Seven controls the magical access point on this side, while members of the French Magical Legion guard the border in Calais.

“Now, the only way I know of for a person to leave going the _other_ way is to be wearing that ring you are currently sporting. Assuming it allows you through the Ward at all, you will then have to make the crossing into France in the Muggle way … by passenger ferry. But as soon as you pass through the Ward, the French will know you are coming … and they’ll be waiting.

“I’m not going to sugar-coat this for you, Hermione … what you are doing is extremely dangerous. Only the most desperate of situations would have made me agree to this in the first place. Once you step through that barrier, you are on your own out there. Not only that, but the French will detect an unscheduled breach in the Ward … Harry always arranged his exits with his contacts beforehand … and for all we know they might read that as an aggressive move.

“And when you add to that the possibility that Ron and Riddle will probably be tracking you via your wedding ring now, they will likely alert their sleeper allies on the continent, and they will be on the hunt for you, too.”

“Great,” Hermione fumed, crossly. “So both my allies and my enemies are the bad guys. Wonderful.”

“I never said this would be easy,” Neville offered, apologetically. “If there was any other way …”

“But there isn’t. I’m all we’ve got,” Hermione huffed, bluntly. “Isn’t there anyone I can trust?”

“Only yourself,” Myfanwy advised. “Until you reach the International Confederation of Wizards conference and announce who you are, you need to be cautious and treat everyone as a potential enemy. If they’re not one of us, they could be one of them. So take no chances. To that end … here, take this.”

Myfanwy reached into her battledress and drew out a short, thick club, which she handed to Hermione.

“What’s this?”

“I call her _Fiddler’s Bane_ ,” Myfanwy grinned, wickedly. “There are a lot of deviant wizards out there … Muggles, too … who might fancy _fiddling_ with a young witch travelling on her own, and you cant always rely on being able to quick-draw your wand. This handy weapon is the bane of such intent. The club is imbued with a highly focused Bludgeoning Charm, so even the daintiest of taps will shatter the firmest of encroaching wrists. You’ll get twelve hits out of it before the Charm wears off … hopefully you wont need them, but just in case …”

“Thank you,” Hermione smiled, slipping Fiddler’s Bane into her jacket sleeve. “So, what’s my itinerary?”

“The ICW Conference is currently in session in Vaduz, Liechtenstein,” Neville informed her, before handing over a pocket map and a pack of travel documents. “It’s approximately a twelve-hour trip via Muggle modes of transport from Calais, but you’ll have to get passed the magical checkpoint first. Once you do, we’ve purchased open-ended tickets for you for trains first into Belgium, then into Paris, before the final route on to Vaduz. Travel only by day, and don’t be afraid to change trains if you think you’re being followed.

“We’ve booked you into a hotel in the middle of Paris for tonight. Use it, then travel onto Vaduz first thing tomorrow morning. Take your time, and stay calm … if you panic and rush you’ll only draw the attention of any eyes that might be looking out for you. Remember, you’re trying to look like a regular tourist, so just try to act like one.”

“Okay,” Hermione gulped, suddenly fretful with the seriousness of the situation. She’d never heard Neville’s tone so grave and concerned. She shivered nervously as the sound washed over her prickly skin.

“In that pack I gave you are your travel papers,” Neville went on. “Until you get to the Conference, your name is Lizzie Brooks, alright? Try and get used to using the name in your mind. You should only need to use it once, when you check-in to the hotel in Paris, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

“Lizzie Brooks, Lizzie Brooks,” Hermione nodded, trying out her first ever alias. It stirred a wild sort of adrenaline in her as she thought about it, that she even needed a secret identity at all. It was quite exciting, really, to be breaking the rules.

“Last thing,” Neville added. “Did you bring your old DA coin? I remember Harry saying you still wore it.”

“I have it here,” Hermione replied, tapping the front of her jacket. The coin was hanging loose on a long chain that ran right between her breasts, quite safe and out of sight.

“Good. They still work, you know, but Harry has removed anyone nefarious from the Charm. You can contact us using yours. Let us know when you are safely in Paris, or if you run into trouble at any time. We wont be able to offer much help, but we can give advice or guide you to safety if you get lost or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hermione replied. She sucked in a deep, steeling breath. “Right, I think I’m ready.”

“Dont _think_ you are ready,” Myfanwy advised, staunchly. “ _Know_ you are!”

Hermione nodded, her determination fortified. She really liked Fan, she hoped she would be as fierce as the Welsh Shield-Sorceress some day.

“Okay. Here I go,” Hermione declared. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Good luck,” Neville smiled, or tried to … his worry turned the whole thing into a sort of pained grimace.

And then, with a final encouraging squeeze of her arm from Myfanwy, Hermione turned and walked purposefully towards the Great Ward around Britain … and she passed straight through as if there were nothing there at all.

* * *

Hermione’s first thought, upon reaching the other side, was one of girlish elation.

_It considers me a Potter!_

The thought settled on Hermione with extraordinary warmth, and she decided to ignore the more rational explanation ... that the Ward was simply responding to the ring on her finger rather than anything speccifically to do with her. She grinned like a loony as she made her way towards the Muggle port, practically skipping as the joyous nature of the implication crashed into her. The Ward Barrier had let her pass as a Potter … as though she really was Harry’s wife!

She felt a lot like that already, of course, but this official validation somehow made the whole thing feel a lot more real. It was as if she had taken a huge footstep towards that most cherished of goals, and that she would be sifting through wedding dress options and organising bridal showers within a matter of weeks. It was such a cheery thought that Hermione almost forgot what she was here to do.

But she hitched her focus back on as soon as she was amidst people again. She felt stupendously paranoid being surrounded by strange faces … she had not been out of sight of at least one familiar friend for over two months now, after all. But as she queued patiently with the other foot passengers to board the _Pride of Dover_ , she couldn’t help but hear Myfanwy’s warning echo in her ears.

 _If they aren’t one of us, they could be one of them_.

The thought put Hermione on hyper-alert. Every one of her senses seemed sharpened … she heard everything, saw everything, even smelt the overpowering scent of Chanel Number 5 from the woman in front of her. She used to wear that perfume, herself, until Ron replaced it with a bespoke eau de toilette made from his own pheromones, to ward off potential love rivals.

 _Toilet water, indeed!_ Hermione chuckled to herself as she remembered, then swiftly discarded, the annoying memory.

Hermione’s burgeoning fears were quickly dispelled as she boarded the ferry without ceremony and made her way up to the passenger deck. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement; after all, it had been years since she’d travelled anywhere and she’d always loved the water. She hoped Harry would buy her a little boat after the war, so they could tour the waterways of the Blue Palace grounds together. It would be so lovely.

Hermione even had a name in mind for her little gondola … the _HMS Harmony_. It would be perfect.

But, for now, she had to put such pretty dreams aside and focus on the darkness of the present. Hermione wandered around the shops and food court of the boat awhile, before moving out onto the deck as the ship set sail, watching as it passed out of the port and off into the openness of the English Channel. The colossal length of the White Cliffs of Dover seemed to wave Hermione goodbye, as the ship gunned away from England and headed off towards France.

Hermione, feeling calmer now she was settling to task, decided to grab herself a tea and just watch the sea pass as the brief voyage progressed. She soon grew used to the bobbing and rolling of the ship, getting her sea-legs quickly as she ordered her favourite Earl Grey with some pecan plaits for a late brunch. She luckily found a single person booth with a nice view out across the Channel and slid into it, pulling out the pack of paperwork Neville had given her with the goal of learning all of it by heart in the hour-and-a-half it would take for the ship to reach Calais.

“So, Lizzie Brooks,” Hermione whispered to herself, as she turned the pages of a detailed alternate-persona document Neville had prepared for her. “Who are you?”

It turned out that Lizzie Brooks was a newly-qualified linguistics teacher, travelling to Europe to practice her language skills in the Francophone countries. Hermione appreciated that … she’d always been good with languages, and her frequent holidays to France with her parents when she was a girl had given her a solid command of conversational French, so she could act that role if she needed to. It eased some of her latent worry.

But, just then, someone passed right by her booth … just a little too close for Hermione to be comfortable with.

Hermione snapped her head around the seat facing her … but saw only a member of cafe staff offering coffee refills to customers nearby. Hermione sat back and commanded her heart to calm down, her rapid breathing, too. But, she thought bluntly to herself, she had better get used to this paranoia … it would be her travelling companion from now until the moment she crossed back into the safety of the Blue Palace, so it wasn’t going anywhere.

The Channel crossing passed without incident. Hermione read, and re-read, the documents Neville had given her, cringed at the awful photo in her fake passport and huffed over who had taken it, then memorised the name and address of the hotel she was aiming for. _La Maison Belle, 6 Rue de Rouge, Paris du Nord_. It was near the large train station in that part of the French capital and so shouldn’t be too hard to find. That calmed Hermione, too, and gave her hope that this might all go ahead without serious incident.

That was until she disembarked from the ferry in Calais … and realised she was being followed the moment her feet touched French soil.

Now, quite _how_ she knew, Hermione couldn’t describe … but she undoubtedly _did._ She felt a surge of prickly anxiety as soon as that first blast of French early afternoon sun hit her, as though the attention fixed on her was carried on the coastal breeze. She had been expecting to be approached by magical French security, she just thought she might have had a little more than thirty seconds after ariving to prepare herself for an interrogation.

The problem was, as much as she knew she was being watched, Hermione couldn’t tell from _where_. Unsurprisingly, there were no bright neon signs saying ' _Magicals -This Way'_ and so Hermione wasn’t sure which direction to go. She recalled Neville saying she’d have to cross the magical French border before heading towards Liechtenstein, but she didn’t have the first clue about how to find it.

So Hermione just followed her instincts, drifting towards a rotted and derelict sort of jetty a short way along the road once she’d left the Muggle Port of Calais. There was no particular reason to head in this direction rather than any other, but Hermione did feel a sort of pull towards the forgotten pier, in the same way that tourists were fascinated by ancient tombs or megalithic monuments. Maybe this had the same mystic power as one of those.

Hermione pulled herself up onto the damp planks of the old pier and looked around … there was nothing here, she must have gotten this all wrong ... and then two pairs of rugged hands grabbed her roughly from either side of the pier.

Hermione didn’t even have time to be afraid, for what happened next shocked her as much as the poor security guards on the receiving end of it. For as soon their aggressive hands touched her, Hermione felt a wave of dense magic erupt from the ring on her finger. It crashed through her body and violently repelled the two security wizards who were attempting to manhandle her. They were thrown bodily backwards, easily ten feet away, where they slammed into the decking of the pier.

One jumped up and attempted to fire a containment spell at Hermione. Ropes uncoiled from his wand and raced towards her, but the ring responded again. It sent out a gout of fire, which manifested into a flaming dragon head and incinerated the ropes before they got anywhere near. The second guard fired off a Stunning spell in his panic. That was a mistake. The ring simply pulled Hermione’s hand up and absorbed the jet of red light, concentrated it, then sent it arrowing back with ten times the original force.

The last Hermione saw of the guard was his flailing body, disappearing over the railings of the access stairwell to the wooden platform a further twenty feet back.

Hermione was giddy on power now, emboldened by the heady protection of the Potters, that was encasing her like an impenetrable field of armour. She felt it throb and pulse all through her like an electric charge. She felt supreme, devastating … invincible, even. She would have backed herself in duel against Tom Riddle himself in this state. And she could feel Harry amongst it all, too … his protective aura was swirling all around her. She closed her eyes at his signature, wishing it was his touch, but feeling utterly safe under his care.

And Hermione knew instantly that Neville had been wrong about all this … she wasn’t _alone_ out here, as he’d insisted _…_ because Harry was right there beside her. Even if he was actually _inside_ her.

With a surge of courage that made her knees wobble a moment, Hermione moved forwards to face the one guard still blocking her path. He was young, much younger than her. Maybe still a teenager. And he looked petrified, with wide, staring eyes and a pitifully trembling jaw. Hermione actually felt sorry for him … it looked like this might have been his first day on the job.

“Parle Anglais?” Hermione asked.

The guard nodded nervously.

“Good.” said Hermione, switching to English. “I am not here to hurt you, or to fight with you. But I don’t have the luxury of you wasting my time right now, so I will disable you if you force me to. I have to get to the International Confederation of Wizards Conference in Vaduz on a matter of urgent business. You will open the portal to continental Europe for me. Do you have the relevant clearance for that?”

The guard nodded again, but didn’t move.

Hermione frowned at him. “Then get to it! I’ve bested you and you friend without even drawing my wand. You do _not_ want me to do that.”

With a raspy little squeak, the young guard jumped up. He darted away from Hermione and tapped his wand against a seemingly random patch of air. Suddenly, a large wooden booth materialised on the jetty and the teenaged guard hit some configuration runes on a control panel, then motioned Hermione forwards.

“Thank you,” she said, offering a comforting little smile. “Oh, and tell your friend I’m sorry. I hope he isn’t too badly hurt.”

Then a surge of magical energy cascaded all around her, and Hermione stepped through into the vast expanse of France.

* * *

The first task was to find the train station, which wasn’t all that hard, as the little pictures on the street signs pointed Hermione in the right direction. She was actually heading back towards the port, which made sense, and she soon found herself in the Gare du Calais, checking timetables and fishing through her purse for her tickets and some extra Euros, just to buy some snacks for the journey.

Within the hour, Hermione was aboard her first train and heading out of Calais towards the Belgian border. The coach rumbled along and was only sparsely populated, mostly with other lone travellers, and Hermione felt quite secure as she watched the rugged countryside pass by. She whiled away the time by making her way through a bag of chocolate covered peanuts that she’d purchased, trying to decide which coloured shell she found the tastiest, and jumping every time someone moved along the aisle, including totally startling the ticket collector as she came along to stamp Hermione’s travel pass.

In no time at all, it seemed, Hermione was leaving her first train at Brussel-Centraal station and was waiting for her connection to Paris. She bought an overpriced takeaway latte and sat on a bench on the platform, watching the astonishing length of the Eurostar train as it gunned away from the platform opposite. The station was in fairly poor condition; graffiti-daubed signs adorned the high-rise buildings nearby as well as the station waiting rooms, the toilets were in need of a good clean and the whole place had a dark, dingy sort of feel to it.

Hermione certainly didn’t want to be staying here for too long, but her train wasn’t due in for a good fifteen minutes, so she had no choice but to wait it out. The station was strangely quiet at this end, away from the hustle and bustle of the main hub in the middle. Hermione could hear litter rustling on the platform, as the breeze caused by passing trains stirred the air. It made her look around as each sound stood out loudly to her, exciting her thrumming paranoia each time.

And that was when she saw him.

How she knew this individual was following her, Hermione couldn’t tell … but she just certain that he was, as though Harry’s spirit had been watching out for her and had spotted this tracking wizard nearby. He was sat on a bench a good distance away, too far from her to be overly suspicious. But there was nobody else around, nobody else who had turned up so early for this train.

Hermione felt her skin tingle like it was statically charged. She watched the wizard for a good few minutes, without it seeming like that was what she was doing. She was good at that, at stealthy observation … after all, she’d perfected the skill by secretly looking at Harry during their years at Hogwarts without him noticing her doing it. It was a talent that came in handy now.

The wizard was thick set, burly, his face half-obscured by a wide-rimmed hat … and he never once turned the page of the broadsheet newspaper in his hands. Hermione shivered slightly, as she realised that he was watching her in that same way that she was subtly observing him. Neither moved, neither looked directly at the other … but the attention of both was fixed intently on the object of their scrutiny.

Slowly, the platform grew busier as the train approached. Hermione rose early, hoping to snag an empty compartment on the old-style train. It reminded her of the Hogwarts Express and she was surprised to find such trains still in use. Swatting the thought aside, she boarded the train and found a deserted compartment, pinning her nose to the window to look out along the platform as the train left the station.

And she noticed her follower was no longer in his seat. With a thrill of fear Hermione realised a sobering fact ... _he must have boarded the train with her!_

Settling back into her seat, Hermione freed her wand and placed it into her jacket pocket, lodging her hand alongside it. Her heart was thumping in her chest, and every sound outside her compartment caused her to attention pique in sharp anticipation. It would take three hours to reach Paris ... and Hermione knew she’d be on edge for every single second of it.

After half an hour of being alone, Hermione began to calm. She jumped a little when the train conductor came to check her ticket, but the further along they went the better Hermione felt. Then, about an hour into the trip, the compartment door opened. An elderly woman was stood there, with a carpet bag in her hand.

“Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, ce compartiment est-il gratuit? Partout ailleurs est plein.”

Hermione smiled up at the old lady and replied in her best French. “No, this compartment is free. Wont you sit down?”

“Merci!” the woman smiled toothily back, before explaining that her previous compartment had contained a screaming baby that was driving her mad, so she just had to move.

Ten minutes later and the door opened again. This time it was a young man, who had apparently also had enough of the crying baby. He spoke in rapid, irritated French with the old woman about the situation, as clearly they had shared the previous compartment together, and he sat down.

But what was odd, was that he had moved across the entire compartment to sit directly opposite Hermione.

She shuddered slightly as his knees knocked against hers as the train jerked. He apologised in French, and Hermione guessed from his accent that he was actually Belgian. There was just that _something_ in his lilt that told Hermione he wasn’t a French national. Then he spoke to her properly.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Are you heading into Paris, too?"

"Yes, I am."

"First time?"

"For many years, yes."

"Ah, if you like I can tell you all about the best spots!" the Belgian exclaimed. "From the Louvre to Montmartre, Notre Dame to Versailles ... I know it all!" 

“Pardon me,” Hermione replied in French, trying to sound as polite as she could. “But I don’t really know you, and I don’t feel up to conversation today. I'd like to pass the journey as quickly and quietly as possible, so could you please not talk to me? Thank you.”

“Ah, English, huh?” the Belgian smirked. “Where is that famed English hospitality? I thought you were all supposed to be English Roses, like Keira Knightly and that … what’s her name … Emma Watson?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Not all of us are like that. Some of us English Roses have _thorns_ … can I make myself plainer?”

“A feisty one, eh?” the Belgian chuckled. Then he leant forward and put his hand on Hermione’s knee. “You know, if you just play nicer, we might all have a better trip.”

Hermione grabbed his wrist and twisted it firmly away from her. She riled angrily at the Belgian. “Put your fingers on me again … and I’ll snap each one of them in turn, am I clear?”

“Will you now? That would be very unwise.”

Hermione snapped her head to her right. The old woman was now sitting next to her, invasively close. Only now, she wasn’t an old woman anymore … she was a strong, overly-aftershave scented Spanish man. Hermione swallowed hard as the Spaniard spoke close to her head, his hot spit flecking her cheek disgustingly.

“This can go easily …or it can go _hard_ … _Mrs Weasley_ ,” the Spaniard crooned suggestively, reaching across and taking a turn at grabbing Hermione's thigh. “You decide.”

So she did.

Reaching down to her side, Hermione pulled out Fiddler’s Bane … and cracked it firmly into the skull of the Spaniard. The impact, magically enhanced by the Charm in the truncheon, was so fierce that it caused the Spaniard’s eye to pop out of his socket, as he was knocked cold and slithered down to the floor.

The Belgian roared in anger as his colleague hit the deck with a heavy thud. He lashed out a hand to slap Hermione … but his palm was deflected by an unseen force, which sent it upwards and he harmlessly struck the air a foot above Hermione’s head. Incensed further still, he leapt forward, pinning Hermione’s arms to her sides as his knees pressed into the crook of her elbows.

Unable to move, Hermione couldn’t get any purchase on the club to fight off her attacker. She screeched in frustration, which only seemed to embolden the Belgian. He grinned wickedly at her … then his hands shot to her waist and began fiddling furiously with the buttons to her jeans …

“No! No!” Hermione yelped in anguished desperation. “Help me! Someone!”

And it was her _wand_ that responded.

Amazingly, without Hermione’s hand being anywhere near it, the wand in her pocket moved, poked out of the access hole and pointed right at the Belgian’s chest. The spell that erupted from it shattered his ribcage as it drove him powerfully away from Hermione and into the roof of the carriage. His head collided on the way down, first with the luggage rack and then with the shelf of the window. Hermione heard a sickening snap with the second impact and watched as the Belgian twitched and jerked unnaturally in front of her.

For the collision with the window ledge had broken his neck.

Hermione huffed angrily as she stood up, straightening her jacket and re-doing the top button of her jeans. “That is the _last_ time a man gets the jump on me! I sweat to Merlin! Apart from you, Harry … you can jump me whenever you like! Thanks for the save, honey!”

Hermione felt her DA coin glow warmly between her breasts as though Harry were responding to her in the only way he was able. She grinned at the sensation and moved to the Belgian, taking his head between her hands … and _utterly_ breaking his neck, just to be sure.

“Cunt,” she seethed, as the Belgian's last breath seeped from his lungs. She drew her wand and scored a jagged z-shape into his forehead ... the Potter calling card was delivered. “Now … for _you_.”

Hermione turned to the unconscious Spaniard and placed her wand to his chest. She flicked a deep Severing Charm into his body, cracking his ribs. She repeated the process three more times, until she had six shards of bone at her command on both sides of his sternum. Then she used her wand to turn them, so that they were facing directly into the Spaniard’s lungs … then she drove the jagged fragments into the fleshy organs. The Spaniard gasped out in pained surprise, then his lungs began to fill with blood. Hermione watched until little crimson bubbles popped at the corners of his mouth and trickled down his chin. Then she knew her work was done.

One more lightening-bolt cut later, and Hermione turned coolly to her would-be attackers ... and spat out her adieu at them. “Enjoy Paris, gentleman. I hear it’s a _killer_ city.”

Then she left them to die in peace, and set off in search of a fresh compartment.

* * *

Hermione arrived at the Gare du Nord in Paris in late afternoon. A quick scout of the surrounding streets allowed her to soon locate her hotel and she hurried inside. It was typically Parisien … chic, well decorated, comfortable. It would do very well. Hermione took out her reservation and strode up to the front desk.

“Ah, welcome Mademoiselle Brooks,” the girl on reception swooned. “Your room is all ready for you. Number 212, second floor. Do you require help with your luggage?”

“Oh, I have no luggage, thank you,” Hermione replied. “I am only staying overnight ahead of an early meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Very good, Mademoiselle. Will you be requiring breakfast?”

“No, thank you, I shall be leaving very early.”

“Very well. The dining room is open from seven p.m. this evening, and dinner is included with your reservation. Have a pleasant stay, Mademoiselle.”

The reception girl slid over the key card and Hermione hurried off to the nearest lift and headed up to her room.

The bijou hotel was comfy and warm. Hermione felt relaxed as soon as she was in her room. She kicked off her shoes and socks, digging her toes into the squashy carpet underfoot. She breathed deeply to herself, satisfied that she had made it this far. She decided to take a long bath, thinking about what had happened on the train and wondering if anyone had found the bodies yet, and if whoever had sent them after her would soon dispatch a new set of potential assassins.

As she swirled her bath water and waited for the tub to fill, Hermione also mused over the fact that she felt no remorse for killing those two young men. What did that say about her, about the type of witch she was becoming? As if in response, both the Potter family ring on her finger and the gold Galleon at her neck grew warm, as though offering their unwavering support and validation for her actions.

That made Hermione grin wildly, and dispelled any sense of guilt she might have been in danger of feeling.

The bath water was warm, and the soothing bubble bath targeted Hermione’s stress-heavy muscles. She stayed there for nearly an hour, only getting up in a panic when the hotel room door knocked. But it was only a spotty maid delivering room service and getting the suite number wrong. Still, Hermione was cautious enough to feel compelled to take her wand and cast a powerful _Colloportus_ spell at the door, just in case anyone else tried to come in while she was sleeping.

That gave Hermione an idea. She visited the mini bar and took out a chilled bottle of Prosecco that she found there. Taking a glass, she poured out the sparkling liquid and moved to sit on the balcony of her room, enjoying the warm rush of Summer Parisian night air as it flowed over her flesh.

“Well, it’s not _W_ _hen in Rom_ e _…_ but Paris will do just as well!”

Hermione drank deeply and took in the view. The dark waters of the Seine flowed amiably nearby, while in the distance the rhythmic flash of the rotating light of the Eiffel Tower was interspersed with the dazzling eruption of light as the whole structure came to life in sequence. Hermione looked at the beauty of the city in fond reticence.

Then she lifted the Potter ring to her lips. “One day, Harry, you and I are going to come here and enjoy this properly. It will be ever so romantic … perfect, in fact, for our honeymoon! Are you listening to me, Harry Potter, wherever you are? I don’t care what it takes, or what I have to do, but I am _so_ going to marry you! I swear it, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Hermione watched the Parisien night for some hours longer, finished her Prosecco and then slid onto the soft sheets of her bed, wishing that Harry was there with her but more resolutely determined than ever to bring him back to life, so that one day they’d revel in this city as husband and wife. Then she decided that she might as well make use of her dinner reservation while she was here, maybe snag herself another bottle of wine while she was at it.

For it turned out that all this killing of Dark Wizards didn't half stir up an appetite in her.


	32. The International Confederation of Wizards

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Hermione left the hotel early the next morning and slipped into the Gare du Nord, never once taking her hand from the wand in her pocket. She hadn't slept well, getting only a few broken hours here and there, as her anxiety only allowed her the lightest of slumbers. The high speed TGV train she hoped to catch was the first one of the day, a shuttle into Vaduz, via brief stops in Basel and Zurich. Hermione slipped into a seat, positioned near the aisle so that she wouldn’t entice company, then scowled at any passenger who might dare to try and sit by her.

It wasn’t until the train moved off that she truly began to settle into the journey. It would take over ten hours to reach Liechtenstein and Hermione was hopeful that the trip would pass without incident. She sat back into her chair, ordered a coffee from the drinks trolley when it passed and kept her wits about her for any impending danger.

But today, it seemed, her luck had improved. For twelve hours after boarding the TGV, a very stiff … but very content … Hermione arrived in one piece at the International Confederation of Wizard’s Conference in Vaduz.

Hermione found herself at the steps of a large, imposing building. Flags of every nation fluttered on long poles, dotted around a large, open garden with a giant fountain at the centre. Witches and wizards hurried around her, some shunting her irritably from an Apparition point she was standing near to. She huffed at them and moved off, resisting the urge to hex them for their impudence.

The European Headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards was in Berlin, but Conferences were held all over Europe, which accounted for the smatterings of various accents Hermione could pick up on all around her. The notable absence of English was quite disconcerting, however. She tried to ignore the implications of that and simply headed towards the large building at the top of sloping, well kept lawns in the distance.

Hermione hurried through the crowds, past a group of pretty young witches catching rays in the early August sun (and wondering if she would ever have had the confidence to simply strip down to her bra on her lunch break) and up the steps to the oak-panelled and marble building ahead of her. The imposing logo of the International Confederation of Wizards was emblazoned large on the huge glass doors and Hermione was suddenly fitfully anxious about where she was.

Not to mention what she was trying to do.

She entered the building into a vast, indoor courtyard. It was cool and gloomy in here, in stark contrast to the scorching weather outside, and there was a circular reception desk at the centre, with innumerable doors set into royal-blue tiled walls. The upper levels were so numerous that they disappeared into a dark grey mist high above the ground floor. Hermione swallowed hard and moved forwards to the large, unfriendly-looking wizard manning the main desk.

He spoke in French, the official language of the International Confederation of Wizards in Europe.

“Good afternoon, mademoiselle,” the reception wizard simpered. “What can I do for you today?”

“I need to speak to the most senior person I can, on the most urgent of matters,” Hermione replied without ceremony.

“You are English,” said the wizard, flipping languages easily, his expression a mix of curious and amused.

“How could you tell?” asked Hermione somewhat crossly, switching to English to match.

“Your accent is not native and your vocab is quite obscure,” the wizard replied. “What is an English witch doing here at the ICW?”

“I have come to try and to save my country while I still have time,” said Hermione, bluntly. “Now, who can I see?”

“No-one. The ICW Council is currently in session. Europe is in a state of emergency, as I’m sure you well know.”

“They are? The Council is sitting right now? Good. Then take me there.”

The reception wizard eyed her coldly. “That isn’t how it works Miss … er … ”

Hermione scowled at him. “Potter … and it’s _Mrs Potter_ to you.”

The wizard changed his demeanour in an instant, shifting to a very awkward air.

“Potter, Potter … not … not _the_ Potter? As in … _Harry Potter?_ ”

“The very same,” said Hermione, coolly. She thrust her hand forwards and showed the reception wizard the Potter Family ring. “This is our family ring, and I assume it will be seen as proof enough of who I am. Now … are you going to call someone _important_ , or do I have to tell my husband that you were so infuriatingly difficult with me? I don't think he'd be very happy to know that.”

“No, no, Mrs Potter, that will be quite unnecessary,” the wizard pleaded, a little frantically. All colour had suddenly drained from his face. “If you will … if you could … j-just give me a moment. _Please?_ ”

Hermione had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh. She had to admit it was deeply amusing to see how Harry stirred such fear in people, simply for defying him. The wizard busied himself with several parchment memos, before tossing them into a miniature Floo fire on his desk. Then he turned back to Hermione with apologetic eyes.

“I am sure somebody will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione. “I’ll just take a seat over here, then. Could you fetch me a glass of water, please? It’s very hot today and I’ve travelled a long way.”

“Yes, Mrs Potter, right away.”

Hermione swooned in spite of herself. She could _so_ get used to this ... _Mrs Potter_. She wanted to keep taunting the hapless reception wizard just so he would keep using her assumed name. She literally couldn’t wait for the day when it became her real name. Hermione Potter ... she couldn’t wait! She curled her toes with the very notion of it.

Hermione waited for several minutes in the reception courtyard. She frowned a little at the opulence all around her … fresh, Swiss alpine water was all very well, but surely a standard glass from the tap would represent a better use of resources. Fucking politicians. Muggle, Magic it didn’t matter ... they were all on the bloody take. She’d like to set fire to the sodding lot of them.

She was stirred from her dark reverie by the arrival of a powerfully built, and ruggedly handsome wizard. She blushed slightly under his gaze. He had piercing dark eyes and a shock of hazel-blonde hair. It was a good job Hermione was already in love, or else she might have been captivated by this wizard a moment. But the initial burst of attraction passed in a flash, and Hermione smiled to herself. It was as if Harry had sensed her eyeing up another man and gave her a gentle nudge from inside to remind her of her sensibilities.

“Well, well, well,” said the wizard, his accent slick and undoubtedly German. “Harry went and got himself a wife, did he? And such a pretty one, too.”

“He did … and if he hears you’ve been flirting with me he might castrate you,” Hermione replied, lightly. Weirdly, her initial attraction had completely faded now and she felt shockingly guilty for having betrayed Harry with her roving eyes. She decided she would make up for it by being cross.

“Oh, Harry knows me better than that!” the German wizard laughed, sitting opposite Hermione and lounging back into the black leather seat facing her. “He knows my interests lie in a far more masculine direction!”

Hermione blinked in surprise, her mouth forming a startled little ‘o’. “Do you prefer wizards then?”

“Oh fuck yes,” he replied. “Witches are far too delicate for my tastes!”

“And you know Harry, you say?”

“I do, and I’m very proud to be able to call him a good friend, too,” the German grinned. “My name is Dietmar Friedrich, by the way … and I assume you _must_ be Hermione.”

“Friedrich … Harry’s mentor in the ZGD!” Hermione exclaimed. “Wow. It’s nice to meet you, Harry speaks very highly of you. But what do you mean … _I must be Hermione?_ ”

“Harry only ever talked about one girl in the three years he apprenticed with me,” Dietmar explained. “So I’m assuming you’re her. There’s no way on God’s Green Earth that he’d marry anyone else. He made quick work of getting you down the aisle, didn’t he? Curious … I never really saw Harry as the sweep-a-girl-off-her-feet, charmer-sort of wizard!”

“Oh, well,” said Hermione airily, as her cheeks coloured. “I guess you can say I did a lot of the work there.”

“Clearly. And Harry must also have made quick work of your _other_ husband,” said Dietmar, shrewdly.

Hermione baulked under his gaze, and felt sure that Dietmar was probing her mind. She _had_ to get around to building better defensive mental barriers in her head.

“You lie very badly,” the German went on, but he was smiling warmly at her. “You needn’t worry, Miss Hermione. Your secret is safe with me. Besides, it’s only a white lie, isn’t it? You are wearing Harry’s ring, after all. That’s proof enough of who you are for me. May I?”

Hermione sheepishly offered her hand, which Dietmar took delicately.

“Fascinating … the power in this is _incredible._ I must say, you’re holding it very well. Not overwhelmed by it?”

“It was a bit dizzying at first,” Hermione admitted. “But it’s Harry’s family energy … he calmed me down, helped me to absorb it.”

“So, I suppose the big question is why are _you_ here wearing Harry’s ring at all? I imagine you’ve come to plead for Britain’s aid on his behalf. Why hasn’t he come himself?”

“Harry was doing a ritual … and it went a little bit wrong,” Hermione confessed, deciding it was pointless to lie. “Harry is alive, but undergoing treatment to repair the damage. Then this threat arose and I was the only one who could act in Harry’s place.”

“So here you are,” said Dietmar, releasing Hermione’s hand and leaning back again. “What do you hope to do?”

“To make an appeal to the ICW,” said Hermione. “To give them information about the condition of magical Britain behind your Wards, and to deliver a warning of dire events that may be about to unfold in Europe. It sounds as if you know about the gathering of a Dark Army in Ireland … but there is so much more to it than that.”

Dietmar took a breath. “As much as I’d like to encourage you, Miss Hermione, I wouldn’t be very hopeful of success. The ICW is deeply concerned about the impending attack on the Wards around Britain. King Voldemort threatens us all … he has promised a full-scale war on magical Europe once he breaks through to the continent ... and if the Americans are choosing to side with him now, it will mean dark days for all of us. There are some among the Council who are advocating for a far more aggressive approach to the problem … for the international magical community to strike first, if you will.”

“Which is why you must find a way to let me speak to the Conference,” said Hermione, desperately. “The attack will do nothing, except kill untold numbers of innocent people. Tom Riddle will be unharmed at the end of it.”

Dietmar shifted as his attention caught. “Why do you say that so assuredly?”

“Because it’s the truth, and I mean that,” said Hermione, forcefully. “Voldemort is no ordinary Dark Wizard. He is brilliant and cunning … and he has taken steps to make himself borderline i _mmortal_. Harry is the _only_ one who can kill Tom Riddle … and this attack might kill _him_ instead. Please, Herr Friedrich … I really need help … _your_ help, if you can offer it. Harry is counting on me, and I don’t want to let him down. If you really were his friend, help me now.”

Dietmar considered her words for a few moments, then nodded his head. “Very well, Miss Hermione … you have me convinced. Come along with me, you must tell all that you know to the ICW Council.”

“Can you simply barge into a high-level meeting?” asked Hermione in awe.

“I am the head of the ICW’s elite security force,” Dietmar replied, smoothly. “In this building, there isn’t _anywhere_ I can’t go.”

Hermione returned his grin and followed him to a Floo portal. A quick flash of green fire later and she and Dietmar were striding through a pair of large, oak double doors, and onto the floor of the ICW Council meeting, where three hundred of the most powerful magical people in the world were suddenly hissing at the interruption.

“Honoured Members, please forgive me,” Dietmar called out. “But I enter this Chamber bringing urgent business that cannot be ignored.”

“Captain Friedrich,” said a Spanish wizard seated in the High Minister’s Chair. “What is the meaning of this? And who is this witch you bring before us?”

“This witch, Supreme Mugwhump, High Minister Diaz, is Hermione Potter … wife of Harry Potter.”

Three hundred voices broke out into simultaneous whispers around the oval chamber, consorting excitedly with their neighbours and pointing down into the base of the basin-like room. Hermione looked up fiercely at them, at all twelve rows of them, and glowered at each face she could see, daring every one of them to challenge her.

“She has left the United Kingdom, passing the wards by use of Harry Potter’s family ring,” Dietmar called over the din. “I have seen and verified her credentials, should anyone have any issue with her claim.”

“Your word is good enough for this Council, Captain Friedrich,” said High Minister Diaz. “But why is Mrs Potter here?”

“I am here to plead with you, on behalf of all the innocent people of my country,” said Hermione, stepping forwards. “Please, you must intervene to prevent the imminent attack on Great Britain by the Dark Army currently amassing in Ireland.”

“And why should we do that?” asked a witch with a thick Danish accent, sitting in the third row. “King Voldemort represents the greatest threat to peace in magical Europe since Gellert Grindelwald. For all we know these wizards gathering in Ireland are there to eliminate Voldemort … and if that is true, I say we stand aside and let them.”

The chamber erupted in banging and foot-stomping agreement.

“Mrs Potter … tell them what you told me,” Dietmar threw out.

“So, thousands of innocents should die, because you are too cowardly to act, is that what you’re saying?” Hermione hurled back at the Danish witch, ignoring Dietmar in much the same way as the other three hundred people in the room had.

“There will always be collateral damage in warfare,” said a Canadian wizard sat off to Hermione’s right. There were more roars of approval. Hermione glared angrily at him.

“Tell them,” Dietmar tried again.

“Besides, it will be a chance to rebuild Britain in a modern way,” said an African wizard near to the High Minister. “Your traditions leave you so old fashioned.”

“Our _old fashioned_ ways have given us some of the most powerful sorcerers in history!” Hermione screeched angrily. “From Merlin to Dumbledore to my Harry, himself! You’d do well to remember _that_!”

“Hermione! Tell them!”

Dietmar’s sonorous-enhanced voice thundered around the chamber, stunning everyone into silence. When the fierce Head of the ZGD spoke, it seemed, everyone was going to listen. Hermione smiled gratefully at him, and he inclined his head in response. The Supreme Mugwhump looked down at her kindly.

“I believe you have the floor, Mrs Potter.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione. “The attack on Britain _will not_ destroy Lord Voldemort. Regardless of whether this army is there to help him or hinder him, Lord Voldemort will prevail through this current crisis.”

“And how do you know this?” asked High Minister Diaz.

“Tom Riddle … the wizard you know as the Dark King Voldemort … has engaged in some of the most evil forms of magic to make himself almost impossible to kill. To cut to the truth, he has immersed himself in the despicable necromantic art of … of _Horcrux creation_.”

Little hissing wildfires of horrified chatter broke out all around the chamber. High Minister Diaz had to bang his gong for silence.

“He has created a Horcrux?” he asked quietly. The Minister had gone very pale. “I … I thought that the idea was only theoretical, impossible to successfully perform. Yet you say he has managed to create one?”

“Not one, sir, no … but _seven_.”

The chamber erupted.Violent cries and shouts ricochetted off the walls. The anger in the room was palpable. High Minister Diaz had to modify his own voice to bring order again. Hermione heard one wizard proclaim that they were all doomed. The Spanish leader of the ICW turned his head back to Hermione.

“You say he has created _seven_ Horcruxes?” Hermione nodded her confirmation. “Abulafia help us!”

“We are finished,” the Danish witch moaned, her voice terrified. “Voldemort will kill us all! What defence can be staged against such a wizard? What can be done?”

“Join with us and fight the Americans in Ireland … and leave Voldemort for us to kill, before he gets to you first.”

The nature of the silence, which followed Hermione’s statement, was probably of a sort unprecedented in its intensity in the history of the International Confederation of Wizards.

“Kill him?” asked High Minister Diaz. “Lord Voldemort created seven Horcruxes, you say … and now you want me to believe that you can kill him? Forgive me … but not even the wife of Harry Potter could be that powerful!”

“You are wrong, Supreme Mugwhump … for we have destroyed six of Voldemort’s Horcruxes already,” Hermione told him plainly. She waited for the astonished din to die down before continuing. “And we are on the hunt for the seventh as I stand before you and speak. Then we can finally go for Riddle and destroy him for good. And no, Supreme Mugwhump, _I_ can’t kill Lord Voldemort … but my husband _can_. He is the _only_ one who can.”

“Harry Potter was fated, by Prophecy, to have the power to defeat this Dark Lord,” said Dietmar, taking over. “This Chamber has heard of the Prophecy. I trained the man to be able to do it. And, trust me ladies and gentleman, you will find no more accomplished and, frankly, _deadly_ dueller _on the planet_ than Harry James Potter.”

“Here, here, I can vouch for the truth of _that_ statement!” said the Minister for Argentina, inclining his water glass to Hermione in respectful salute. “You will tell your husband that Florentin Perez says hello?”

“I will,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“If the Prophecy is, indeed, true,” Dietmar continued. “Then we must help Britain … and give the Potters their chance to save their country … it may be the only way to save us all.”

His words were greeted by a hush of heavy breathing. The High Minister eventually addressed Hermione again.

“Mrs Potter, what do you need us to do?”

“Stop the wizarding army from attacking us,” said Hermione. “We do not have the strength of numbers to face both the might of Voldemort and the resources of the Americans. Tell them what I have told you if you must, if they are here to fight Voldemort … and go to war with them if they seek to join him. Make them see the futility of what they are doing. Tell them … tell them the future _Queen of England_ asks it of them.”

The stunned looks that hit the assembled faces around Hermione made her laugh. She couldn’t help it.

“Excuse me,” said High Minister Diaz. “But could you repeat that? I’m afraid my hearing isn’t what it once was.”

“You heard perfectly well enough,” Hermione smiled, genially. “Harry Potter has claimed his legacy as the Heir Descendent of King Arthur … the Once and Future King of Britain … and that future has now come. All that is left is to hold his Coronation and he will take his throne … and I will become his Queen.”

Excited murmurs exploded around the chamber. Dietmar dropped to one knee.

“Then allow me to be the first wizard to offer his fealty to the future Queen of the Britons,” he said with a grin. “I may be a German … but Harry would wring my neck if he ever heard that I didn’t offer myself into your service when you had need of me!”

Hermione laughed. “I heartily accept it, Herr Friedrich. But I ask only that you offer whatever aid to Britain that you can … I keep none for myself.”

Dietmar stood and looked ferociously at High Minister Diaz. “The Council must make a decision, Supreme Mugwhump … and it must make it today.”

“You are posturing for potential world war, Captain Friedrich,” the delegate for Estonia called down from the Seventh row. “Not all of us have the will or the resources for such an action.”

“But such an action may soon come to you!” Hermione called back up.

Dietmar turned to her is cold seriousness, he practically bristled with it. “What does that mean?”

“We have heard from our own spies that magical Europe may soon be set ablaze,” Hermione replied, quietly. “Sleeper cells of terrorist wizards, ones sympathetic to Voldemort’s cause, may be preparing to strike out at targets all across the continent. We do not know where, but the _when_ may be to coincide with the attack on Britain from Ireland.

“Herr Friedrich … this is no _world police_ -type force gathering on the lands of our closest neighbour, and they do not come to aid us … they are the collateral reinforcements that Voldemort has called for from his allies across the globe. If they are allowed to go unchecked then it wont be us who fires the opening volley in this war … but at least we have to option now to act from a position of strength.”

“Excuse me, I must tell all this to Minister Diaz in private,” Dietmar replied, solemnly. “We have been expecting something like this … but we suspect that not all ears in this room are sympathetic to us. Give me a moment.”

Dietmar hurried across the Chamber and fell into huddle conversation with Minister Diaz, under the protection of a powerful Privacy Charm. Hermione watched them a moment, watched as Diaz’s expression went from the red of anger to the worried grey of old porridge faster than a set of traffic lights. Dietmar returned after a few minutes and turned to the crowd.

“Mrs Potter brings us good authority that this army in Ireland is here not only to fight against the threat her husband poses to King Voldemort, but also to turn its Dark magic against _us_ the moment they manage to defeat Harry, should they find a way to achieve it.

“Our response is clear … we must answer Hermione Potter’s plea for aid. High Minister … your decision?”

“In such matters as these, a vote is required,” said the Canadian wizard.

“This is an act of European concern, and in that capacity I have the authority to approve military action,” Diaz replied, coolly. There was clearly some past tension between these two men, Hermione was deeply curious as to what it might be.

“And what will Europe do?” asked the Danish witch in the third row.

“We will stand by Britain … we will stand by her Queen,” said Diaz, nodded gallantly at Hermione. “ This is the will of the ruling European Council. Go, Dietmar ... you know what you must do. Lady Potter … it has been an honour to meet you. Return home and let us handle Europe on our side. I hope, when we next meet, it will be on far more casual terms.”

“I’d like that,” said Hermione, smiling. “Thank you, Supreme Mugwhump.”

Diaz smiled warmly at her. “Oh, and tell Harry something for me will you? … Knight to King Six.”

“Er … I’m sorry, but … I don’t follow.”

“We were playing a game of postal chess,” Diaz smiled, fondly. “It was my move when we erected the Wards.”

“But that was … _two and a half years ago!_ ”

“Indeed ... and Harry’s had me on the run all that time! My pieces should approve of this aggressive counter move!”

Hermione laughed and bowed to the High Minister, before turning on her heel and allowing Dietmar to steer her from the Chamber.

“Well, I consider that a result!” Hermione chimed as they quick-marched along the corridor.

“I agree ... you made a very impassioned case,” Dietmar grinned in reply.

“What did Diaz mean by saying you know what to do?”

“We have a contingency plan, targets we have been keeping a close eye on in the event of a development such as this,” Dietmar explained. “ZGD Agents all over Europe will swing into action now, tap their sources, learn everything that we don’t already know. The wheels of resistance are in motion now, Miss Hermione … you’ve done Europe a great service today.”

“Thank you, for all your help,” Hermione beamed. “I wont forget it … and I’ll make sure Harry doesn’t either.”

“How do you plan to get home to him, may I ask?” Dietmar queried. “I can only imagine the risk you took in getting here.”

Hermione quailed a moment. She hadn’t really thought of that. She’d been so preoccupied with the challenge of reaching the Conference and arguing her case that she hadn’t given too much thought about how she was going to get back.

“I … I actually don’t know,” Hermione confessed. “We had to break through a Death Eater garrison to get through at Dover, but I suppose they will have doubled the reinforcements on it now.”

“At least,” Dietmar agreed. “It is a solid supposition.”

“Then I’m stuck!” Hermione cried, stopping abruptly mid-stride. “I can’t get home!”

“Do not despair, Miss Hermione, there are always possibilities.”

“But the Dover to Calais portal is the only way across,” Hermione frowned. “My friend, Neville Longbottom, told me so.”

Dietmar grinned shrewdly. “Some secrets, Miss Hermione, Harry has to keep even from his Blood Brother … but I have the feeling he will have no problem sharing them with his future _wife_.”

Hermione blushed prettily. “So what are you saying ... that there is another way to enter Britain?”

“Just one other, and a very secret _other_ it is,” Dietmar nodded. “And, in case you are worrying, it is quite safe.”

“Where is it?” Hermione pressed, eagerly.

“This is something even I do not know,” Dietmar revealed. “What I can tell you is that it is the exit point in Britain to Harry’s _Ratway.”_

“Ratway? What’s that?”

“Harry hasn’t told you?” Dietmar grimaced. Hermione shook her head that he hadn’t. “Ah, then I must ask you to forgive me, young frauline … that is a delicate story, one Harry is better off telling you about. It is not for me to break my trust with him.”

Hermione frowned crossly. “That boy really does keep far too many secrets!”

“Can you blame him?” Dietmar chuckled. “You must have met Mrs Longbottom if you know Neville. Take my advice … never tell her a secret if you want it to be kept that way! She is useless at keeping gossip to herself!”

Hermione laughed fondly, a pang rising in her chest as she realised how much she missed Enola, and it had only been a day.

“I know that much already!” Hermione tittered. “But if you can’t tell me about this Ratway portal, how am I supposed to find it?”

“I don’t know the location, as it’s protected under powerful Secret Keeping magic … but I’ll take you to the woman who cast that Fidelius Charm,” Dietmar replied, his eyes flashing brilliantly. “She is Harry’s contact in France, Head of _Sécurité …_ the Secret Service branch of the French Magical Legion. Her name is Amelie and she’s a very talented witch, but you might know her father better, as he is quite famous.”

“Who is he?”

“It would be more accurate to say who _was_ he,” Dietmar retorted mysteriously. “He was one of first people to die in relation to actions involving Harry and his fight against Voldemort. Amelie is his youngest daughter … and she is the only person in the world who can get you home safely now. Her father's name? Why, he was the famous alchemist … Nicolas Flamel.”


	33. The Alchemist's Daughter

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

On the Rue Saint-Bernard, tucked away in the streets just off the Seine, was the pretty little Church of St. Margaret. It was a building unknown to most Parisians as well as tourists, and opposite it was a quaint little bijou cafe that Hermione was now sat outside enjoying the warming rays of the sun. She’d treated herself to a new, stylish Parisian outfit, a sort of one-piece garment of billowing beige silk that puffed out airily on her arms and cut off with lace frill just below the knee.

She felt she looked the part of a Parisian lady in the sun, but the woman sat opposite her had the style down to a tee.

Amelie Flamel was French to the point of stereotype. There was just something about her air, the manner in which she held herself, and the shrewd expressions which crossed her fine complexion. She even came complete with a chic, baby-blue beret, which she wore at a suitably jaunty angle, to show off the skilfully embroidered crest of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic set artistically just off-centre. She just was the quintessential Parisian witch.

“You’re older than I expected,” Hermione declared, as a waiter brought them coffee and croissants.

Amelie laughed in her French lilt. “People are always saying this, as though daughters must somehow always be young. Do not forget, young lady, that my parents had a combined age of over twelve hundred when they died. I, myself, began taking the Elixir of Life when I was in my late fifties and sixties … I decided that I had quite enough wrinkles to be going on with by that point!”

“So, how old _are_ you?” Hermione queried, pouring coffee for them both.

“I may be old, but I am still a lady,” Amelie quirked. “And my true age will remain my own secret. Let us just say I am _old enough_. Though, if you are that curious, try to realise that I once counted the last revered Headmaster of Hogwarts as one of my magical peers.”

Hermione widened her eyes in surprise. “You knew Albus Dumbledore? You’re _that_ age _?”_

“Or thereabouts,” Amelie replied, cryptically.

“How did you come to meet him, then?”

“We once competed against each other in an inter-schools tournament,” Amelie began her story, helping herself to a croissant. “Albus was the champion nominated by Hogwarts, I earned the selection for Beauxbatons, and Gellert Grindelwald was chosen to compete by his fellows at Durmstrang. “

“Oh my,” Hermione hushed out. “You’re talking about the _Triwizard Tournament_ , aren’t you!? You competed in _that_? Wow.”

Amelie nodded. “It was the last incarnation of the tournament before it was suspended, prior to Harry’s victory in the reinstated version. Albus broke his nose several times, I dislocated a shoulder trying to wriggle free from a caveful of cryptids during the Second Task, and Gellert … well, Gellert spent most of his time trying to cheat, hoodwink and brainwash his way through the tournament and the spectators. It was deemed to have become too dangerous and devious to be allowed to continue, so was abolished.”

“Until Ludo Bagman brought it back,” Hermione considered. “Fascinating. So was that how you met Harry? He never said anything about you before.”

“That was how I came to _know_ about Harry,” Amelie clarified. “He was, of course, famous throughout the continent on account of the extraordinary story of his life. But my close connection to Dumbledore gave me a unique window into his life.

“It was through me, you see, and our bond as Triwizard Champions, that Dumbledore first came to meet my father, Nicolas. They hit it off immediately … Albus was always intoxicated by meeting powerful wizards who were Masters of arcane crafts. That is why his connection to Gellert was so strong. My father, as a Master Alchemist and the only known producer of the Philosopher’s Stone, was a source of deep fascination and reverence for a knowledge-thirsty young warlock like Albus. He apprenticed with him for ten years, though their work and friendship lasted until my father’s death a decade ago.”

Hermione swallowed her coffee cautiously. “Dietmar said he considers your father the first casualty of the conflict between Harry and Tom Riddle. Personally, I’d count Harry’s parents in that role, but I can sort of see what Dietmar means … your father died as a direct result of Harry’s involvement, whereas he could do nothing about what happened to his parents. Do you … _blame_ Harry for your father’s death … do you hold him responsible?”

Amelie considered Hermione shrewdly. “At first I did, simply due to my grief over it. In my eyes, Voldemort wanted to return to avenge himself against Harry first and foremost, and my father’s alchemical work gave him the best route to achieve that. I suppose I blamed Harry for making himself a target, for giving Voldemort a _purpose_.

“But I spoke to my parents at length about their decision before they died, and my father explained it plainly. They were tired, they had lived a long life, and they didn’t want this sort of threat and drama on their conscience. They were _ready_ to die … and it was almost as if they were searching for a justifiable reason to stop taking the Elixir. They saw it as a final act of heroic bravery, of defiance against a Dark Lord. My father seemed happy to have that on his epitaph … that dying for Harry Potter was a noble way to end his life.”

Hermione wasn’t about to disagree with that sentiment, but she was deeply curious now as to how Amelie Flamel came into Harry’s life, and it was this question that she asked next.

“It was actually Harry who came to _me_ ,” Amelie replied. Then she paused cautiously. “Has Harry … how much do you know about alchemy or, more specifically, Harry’s interest in it?”

“Very little about both,” Hermione confessed. “I know the basics, of course … the Stone and Elixir, creating gold, that sort of thing … but that’s about it. And Harry has mentioned it briefly, but not gone into any great detail.”

“I must say that surprises me,” said Amelie, her eyebrows raised. “Alchemy has become a huge part of Harry’s life over the last few years, I would have thought he’d have made you part of it by now.”

“I’ve not been back in Harry’s life for three months yet,” Hermione revealed, huffing slightly. “We’ve renewed our old intimacy very quickly … though this trip has been illuminating for the amount of secrets he is _still_ keeping from me, which I’m quite cross about by the way.”

Amelie laughed lightly. “Try not to hold it against him, Hermione. We alchemists are secretive by nature. We had to be, historically, to avoid persecution by religious powers.”

“So, can _you_ tell me some of these secrets? Or at least give me an introduction to them?” Hermione asked. “ If Harry came to you, as you say, I’m assuming it is linked to his interest in alchemy in some way.”

“And you would be quite right,” Amelie confirmed. “It is not for me to tell you all of Harry’s secrets … they are not mine to tell, after all … but what I can say is that Harry is on his own quest to become a Master Alchemist, just like my father and Dumbledore before him. He knows that there is power there that he is uniquely adept to unlock, and he has long since started down the road to harness it.

“In fact, it probably started the day he was born.”

Hermione baulked in surprise at that. “How is that possible?”

“True alchemical adepts are very rare creatures, Hermione,” Amelie responded. “They have to be born under a whole host of seemingly coincidental circumstances, but which are, in fact, cosmically designed. Harry was born under such conditions, so was always going to have a natural adroitness to alchemy and other deeply spiritual arcane arts.”

“Such an ancient runes?” Hermione mused. “That explains a lot. So … not _everyone_ can do alchemy, is that what you’re saying?”

“Precisely,” Amelie confirmed. “Which is what brought the Flamel family into Harry Potter’s story to begin with.”

“Go on,” Hermione urged, refilling their coffee cups.

“When Voldemort first tried to come back to power, my parents were living in their retirement home in the South of England, in Kent,” Amelie began. “That brought them right into the cross-hairs of the neo-Death Eaters like Quirinus Quirrell. They tried to steal my father’s Philosopher’s Stone at first, but he had already moved it to Dumbledore’s vault at Gringotts, and until they discovered that it had been moved again, to Hogwarts, they had to come up with an alternative plan.

“So they returned to my parent’s cottage and ransacked the place. They located my father’s Alchemist's Cell ... which is a specially designed ritual space vital to conducting the Opus Alchymicum … and stole all of his equipment. They took his still, his alembic, his athanor … all the tools he’d been using in his alchemy for more than five centuries.

“The idea was that they assumed the objects had been imbibed with a special power as a result of my father’s Work … one that would enable the easier creation of the Stone and the Elixir. And, in a way, they were right … but without the unique magic of a Master Alchemist to conduct the Work, all of their attempts failed. Once Quirrell died, the equipment fell into the hands of the Malfoys, who sold it on once the British Ministry of Magic started raiding the homes of former Death Eaters for Dark Artefacts.

“From there it was traded all around Europe, changing hands many times, each piece fetching a high price as the collection was split up, but their true origin was lost in the shuffle. Once the Knights of St David began to educate Harry about his alchemical nature, however, the notion of my father’s alchemy _toolkit_ was perceived … and Harry began a quest to unite the missing pieces to use in his own Opus.”

“Ah, I see,” Hermione nodded. “But with your father dead, Harry didn’t know where to start. Then he somehow found out about you, and sought you out to see if you could help!”

“Well deduced,” Amelie smiled. “Harry was able to use my familial magical signature, as a Flamel, to create a sort of homing spell, one that would lead him to the missing artefacts. As he went around Europe with the ZGD, he would often vanish off for days at a time in pursuit of them. I’ve never asked how he got them all back in the end, but I have the feeling none of them came cheap or easy and, knowing Harry as I’ve come to do, probably involved some cunning stratagem or another. Once he knew where a piece was, there would have been no way in the world that he’d leave without it, no matter what he had to resort to in order to acquire it.”

“Wow!” Hermione breathed, astonished at the inference. “Alchemy is _that_ important to him, then?”

“It is, more than I can describe,” Amelie confirmed. Then she threw a shrewd look at Hermione. “Which is why I’m shocked that Harry hasn’t involved you in his Opus yet … because _you_ could be a massive part of it.”

“Me? How?” Hermione hushed.

“I genuinely cant tell you that, but you fulfil so many of the criteria of _exactly_ the sort of person that Harry has been looking for, I see that already,” Amelie replied, mysteriously. “But, without knowing lots more about you, there would be no way for me to be sure enough to tell you about it. But be in no doubt, Hermione, that Harry is _bound_ to have thought about it by now, and to have assessed you in an alchemical capacity. As soon as he introduces you formally to Narcissa Malfoy, you can rest assured that he is convinced of your own alchemical nature.

“And when that happens, get excited … very excited, Hermione … because your life will be about to take on an extraordinary new dimension when he does.”

Hermione felt stirred with fervour at that, as though Harry was nodding vigorously from inside her. It also stoked her frustrations, though.

“It will be hard for Harry to introduce me to _anyone_ ,” Hermione riled, bitterly. “Not when his mind is stuck inside _mine_ as it is.”

Now it was Amelie’s turn to be surprised. “Now how in the world did that happen?”

So Hermione told her the story, everything from her wild rescue right up to the meeting with the Potters in the afterlife. Amelie made for a captive audience, gasping in all the right places, and frowning in concentration as she considered the problem.

“Only now, I have no idea what to do next,” Hermione completed as her story wound down. “Lily told me I have to heal, to create a strong foundation to lay the bridge inside me to bring Harry out. The problem is I draw so much strength _from_ Harry, from our love and intimacy, but Enola says that this cant be used, because I might have a sort of _relapse_ if memories of my abuse surface. And I really don’t want that, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hmmm … so what do you think about it all?” Amelie asked. “Forget everyone else, what are your thoughts on it?”

“I get Enola’s point, Lily’s too, I really do,” Hermione mused. “I’ve been hurt by a man, abused by a man … and Harry is a man, so my brain might respond to that. But Harry isn’t just _any_ man … he’s _mine_. He’s always been mine, the only one I’ve ever wanted. And he’s special, too … his very energy is a salve to me, I feel better just by being around him.

“He cant take what happened away from me, of course he cant. And though he could take my memories if I asked him, the emotional effects would linger in me in some form. And, you know what, I don’t _want_ him to take them. Surviving that ordeal has made me who I am today, those experiences are part of me now.

“And I think they’ve made me stronger. I feel galvanised that I got through them … and yes, there’s a vacuous part of me that sees getting Harry as a _reward_ for surviving all that. Some people may see that as an unhealthy dependency, that I rely on someone else for my well-being. But it’s so much more than that. It’s not just Harry, as wonderful as he is, but it’s what he ignites in me, the ways he stokes the very fires of my essence.

“And even more than _that_ , it is what we create _together_. There’s an energy that explodes when we are near each other, and I swear it’s a real force, tangible and measurable, if there were instruments capable of detecting it. I’m doing a horrible job of explaining all this, but as much as Harry being my solution _shouldn’t_ be the answer … it just _is_. I know it with every sinew of me.”

Amelie smiled fondly at her. “Then you have your own answer. Hermione … one day you are going to come to accept that you and Harry are not like normal people … you are special. Harry is a hero, you are his heroine, the rules that apply to the rest of the world don’t quite fit into your personal paradigm. What should be the norm ninety-nine percent of the time simply wont be true for you.

“The advice of others is well placed and solidly grounded. But you have to decide what is right for you, without reference to your friends, your family or even your own logical judgement. Lily gave you the best guidance … you must heal yourself. And if Harry is the medicine you choose, then so be it. Everyone else be damned. Get him as you want him … then make him your repeat prescription!”

Hermione laughed, but she was ruefully frustrated too. “But how … how do I get him out?”

“There is only one way that I know of … you must create a magical link with him,” Amelie confessed.

“How? What sort of link?”

“A formal bond,” Amelie explained. “If you commit to a magical bond with Harry’s energy, you will not only announce that you are healed enough to open yourself up to him completely, but be able to use your own energy to move his wherever you choose. You could, literally, enter Harry’s body with your own mind in ritual, then re-tether him there before returning to your own.”

“But I _already_ have a Marital Bond,” Hermione moaned. “It’s stopping me from doing so much!”

“Then _break it_!” Amelie cried. “Are you not listening to me? You are _unique_ , Hermione … you are powerful, special, and if the alchemical powers have chosen you, too, then you have a destined partner … one no conventional rules have a hope of stopping you from being with. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, doubting yourself … stop fighting your true nature … and become the _White Queen_ Harry needs you to be, the one he’s been looking for his _entire life_!”

Hermione blinked as she tried to process that. “Any chance you might want to elaborate on that for me?”

“That is Harry’s explanation to give, but you have to earn the right to hear it,” Amelie retorted. “You must go home, go to Narcissa, begin the formal process of becoming an Acolyte and Consort to Harry. Only she has the authority to set that bond for you. If you really, truly, want to become Harry’s wife, you will make it happen. The power is within you, Hermione, it has always been within you. But you have to do something that doesn’t come naturally to you to find it.”

“And what is that?”

“You have to _ask for help_ … rather than be the one who always gives it for once,” Amelie explained. “Asking for help does not show weakness, Hermione … it shows logic and maturity to admit that there are some things we cannot do alone. Narcissa has the knowledge you need, and if you truly want to succeed in this then you are going to need her help. Be humble enough to ask for it, draw strength from it … then snap the bonds that are holding you down.

“Then you will be ready to bring Harry back to us.”

Hermione took a fortifying breath. “Okay. I can do that. But … how do I get home? Dietmar said only you can take me.”

“And he was right, but this is yet another secret that I can only tell you part of,” Amelie replied.

“About this _Ratway_ thing that Dietmar mentioned?” Hermione queried. “What is it?”

“Think of it as an escape conduit,” Amelie continued. “A route out of repressed magical Britain for those souls trying to flee Voldemort’s iron hold on the country. Harry established it, laid out the pathway and the exit, then was part of establishing the clandestine protections of it. He asked me, in my capacity as Head of the Secret Service Branch of the French Magical Legion, to be the point of contact with magical Europe.

“He would meet with the escapees, arrange for safe houses and eventual safe passage out of the UK. My job was to collect the witches and wizards at a mid-point in the English Channel, then funnel them into France and onwards to other destinations in Europe and elsewhere.

“For two-and-a-half years we were a successful operation … then the escapees just stopped arriving. But the reasons for _that_ are the part that I cannot tell you. I know why … but it is the sort of thing that Harry would prefer to tell you himself, when he decides you are ready to hear it.”

Hermione shuddered at that, as though Amelie were inferring that somehow _she_ had a personal connection to this Ratway, not that she could even begin to imagine how. She’d never even heard of it, or heard of anyone using it. It was strange and unsettling to say the least.

“Just another confession I need to coax out of Harry then!” Hermione huffed. “I’m getting quite a list of them now. But I wont be able to tick any of them off … or tick _Harry_ off for being so secretive … if I don’t get home. So how do we do it?”

“We have to get you on our ship to Britain, _La Phoenix_ ,” Amelie revealed. “Best to wait till it is night though, use the cover of darkness.”

“But I was advised not to travel at night,” Hermione frowned.

“Sensible advice, but your secret is out, making travel at any time potentially perilous,” Amelie told her. “Your actions on the train from Brussels did not go unnoticed, madame. Half of Europe is now on the lookout for you. Even that waiter who served us was an informant for _Le_ _Souterrain_ , magical France’s version of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. They are hunting you, Hermione.”

“The _waiter_?” Hermione quailed, snapping her head around to try and find him in her panic. Then she relaxed and grinned … as a _new_ waiter came to their table.

“Forgive me, mademoiselles … Pierre has come down with a bout of sickness, I’m afraid. I will look after your table now.”

“Dietmar!” Hermione hushed. “Nice outfit. What happened to Pierre? What sort of sickness does he have?”

“I believe you English call it asphyxiation,” Dietmar grinned. “It occurs when a pair of German hands fasten around the throat when you are trying to send a carrier pigeon to your bosses over in Versailles. Though I don’t think the hands need always be German!”

Hermione and Amelie laughed at that. Then the older witch turned back to Hermione.

“I will signal some of my security forces soon to escort us back to your hotel, and there you will stay. You and I will have dinner this evening, maybe chat over a glass of chilled Sancerre, then Dietmar and his ZGD will join us at midnight. Together, we will get you out of Paris, take you North … and from there you will cross the water and return to Britain via the Ratway. It will be a dangerous twenty-four hours for you, Hermione … but let us hope that the rest of your residence with us goes unnoticed.”

* * *

Enola was sat by Harry's bedside, holding his hand in both of her own. Hermione had been gone for three days now, and Enola had spent much of that time keeping her place warm, caring for Harry as she would. But he was unchanged. His body had slept, they had been reduced to drip-feeding him a potion as a food supplement, and they had devised a rota for cleaning out his bedpans.

But Harry might as well have been an enchanted doll for all the life he showed, only capable of rolling his blank eye and soiling himself every few hours.

Enola sighed in her worry as she stared at him. Across the bed, her mother was equally as concerned for her.

"You need to rest," Arianwen insisted. "You took terrible."

"Thanks, Mum," Enola frowned back. "Make me feel better why don't you?"

"I’m just saying," said Arianwen in her sing-song Welsh lilt. "You can't help Harry any more than the rest of us. Go to bed for a bit. I’ll keep watch for you."

"I had a nap when I put Alison down," said Enola, off-handedly. "I can't leave him, Mum. He might need something. And I promised Min I'd look after him."

"I'm pretty sure that Lady Hermione wouldn't have expected you to sit by Harry's bedside twenty-four hours a day."

Enola tilted her head at her mother. "What's with all this _Lady Hermione_ ceremony?"

"She's going to be Harry's wife one day," said Arianwen simply. "He's the Master of this house, and Lady Hermione will be its Mistress. Might as well get used to addressing them properly. Even you will have to."

"Pfft," said Enola with a giggle. "Min won't make me do all that."

"It's not a case of making you, Enola," said Arianwen. "It's simply the proper thing to do. I didn't raise you to be disrespectful."

"Min's my friend."

"And she may also one day be your Queen. She will certainly be Lady of the House. A house we only live in due to Harry's wonderful generosity."

"I do hope she'll ask me to be her Maid of Honour," said Enola happily, hitching her knees up into her chest. "We'll have such a raucous hen party!"

"Isn't she very friendly with the girl who killed her baby?" asked Arianwen. "She might ask her to be it."

"She is, but they haven't been the same since that happened," said Enola, sadly. “I think Hermione understands her reasons, but she finds it hard to accept them. But it’s the effect it had on Harry that stuck with Hermione most. He was traumatised by it, and that’s a sure-fire way to drop in Min’s estimation, no matter how friendly you might have been before.”

"It'll all come back to haunt the girl one day, no matter what she says," said Arianwen, dismissively. "She'd be inhuman if it didn't."

“Mmm,” Enola agreed. “But by that point Harry and Hermione will be married and I’d have taken Sue’s place as Hermione’s best friend and Maid of Honour. I sort of think she’s becoming _mine_ , you know. Cassie’s been my closest girlfriend since we were kids, but there’s just something about Hermione … she’s like a magnet you just have to love, you know?”

Arianwen nodded. “Yes, she is a very lovely young witch. How someone could do those things to her that she went through … but, then again, that _anyone_ should have to suffer such treatment is horrendous enough. What a terrible state the world has become!”

“Yes, it’s a bit of a shithole, isn’t it?” Enola sighed, sadly. “I do hope Hermione gets back soon, though … I’m so worried about her.”

"You and me both,” Arianwen agreed. “I only hope she comes back with good news … and not just about the army on our doorstep. We need Harry back for things a little closer to home … namely _Angharad_.”

"Why? What’s wrong with her?" Enola demanded in immediate concern. “I thought she was getting better?”

"She’s more comfortable now that she's back in her suite," Arianwen clarified. "But that curse that hit her … it was nearly as bad as an Unforgivable. Heart, lungs, skin … none of them have worked properly since. It's going to take a hell of a long time for her to fully recover ... if she even gets enough time to."

"Harry said Min was hit with it as a girl," said Enola, thoughtfully. "Do you think we should check her for residual effects?"

"It was the first thing Harry did, as soon as we knew how far-ranging the curse's effects were. He found a hole in Hermione’s heart … and it was growing. He thinks that the curse was only in an experimental stage when it was used on Hermione as a youngster. It wasn't as potent as this version. Even so, if Harry hadn't found it and repaired it when he did, Hermione might have been dead within a year."

Enola gasped in shock. "Merlin forbid! Does she know?"

"No, and I don't think you should tell her,” Arianwen replied, warningly. “Harry did it in secret, so we can assume that he doesn't want her to know. That’s why I need him to come back quickly … I'd like to know what he used, because nothing is really denting the effects on poor Ann."

"Is she still in danger then?" asked Enola. “Is that what you meant by her not having enough time to heal?”

Arianwen looked at her darkly. "Don't you dare say anything to Myfanwy, but this is a degrading curse, Enola … and it's effectively eating Angharad alive from the inside out. I give her six months at best."

Enola flung her hands to her mouth, hoping to catch the shocked breath that burst out from there. "Oh, no … Mum, don't say that! There must be something we can do?"

"I've tried everything I know," said Arianwen, sadly. "Unless Harry has some miracle cure up his sleeve, like he used on Hermione, we'll have lost Ann by Christmas."

Enola stared at her mother in abject horror, then squeezed Harry's hand tightly. She closed her eyes and prayed to Merlin that Hermione would be back soon with good news. They needed some now more than ever.

And Neville was just the wizard to deliver it.

He burst into the Infirmary like a ball of restless energy, swinging his old DA coin like a talisman as he bounded across the room.

“Nev? Are you okay?” Enola quirked. “You look fit to burst.”

“I am! I have just heard from Hermione,” Neville beamed as he reached them. “She was successful with the ICW … they are going to help us!”

“That’s great news!” Enola cried, her mood lifting like a balloon.

“And it gets better,” Neville went on. “Hermione’s found a way back into Britain, and she’ll let me know when she gets through the Restriction Wards so I can go and collect her.”

“When will that be? Did she say?”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “Today … Hermione will be back home today!”

* * *

Day was turning into night by the time Neville was able to fulfil his promise. Light rain had just started to fall, along with a silky dusk, as Hermione strode up the gravel path to the vaulted front door of the Blue Palace alongside him … a sight she’d never been more happy to see in all of her short residence there.

And it was also a front door that she was euphorically happy to be able to call her own.

"Well, we haven't been nuked to death so I assume you were successful. Congratulations."

"It's nice to be home, too, Sir David," said Hermione, offering a sardonic grin as she shook the rain from her travelling cloak.

"Forgive me, my Lady," Sir David replied with a little bow. "It's good to see you home in one piece. How did everything go?"

"As you said, Britain is not yet in the throes of a nuclear winter," Hermione quirked. "I'll explain everything in full later."

"And what will you be doing in the meantime?"

"Continuing my quest to bring Harry back to us, of course."

"But, my Lady, you've only just arrived back home," said Sir David. "Surely you should rest?"

Hermione smiled almost pityingly at him. She playfully cupped his chin between her thumb and finger. "My dear, Sir David, we shall have to spend more time together, you and I. You really don't know me at all, and that just wont do!"

She winked at him, before turning and taking the stairs two at a time. She hurried down the second floor corridor and swung into the Infirmary, unbuttoning her cloak as she did so. She threw it into a chair just inside the room and rushed over to Harry's bedside.

"Min! You're home!"

Enola appeared from around a curtain and crashed into Hermione with a mighty hug, and she returned the embrace with gusto.

"How is he?" Hermione demanded in a business-like tone, pulling herself gently free of Enola and taking Harry's hand, smoothing it tenderly.

"No different," Enola replied, sadly. "He seems to be sleeping more and more though. I don't know if that's bad or not. How did it all go?"

“Later,” Hermione told her, with an air of finality. “I’ve come to a decision, and I need you to help me with it … without complaining. Can you do that?”

Enola looked taken aback by Hermione’s brusqueness a moment, but recovered herself quickly. “I can try. What is it?”

“Harry is the cure to my ills,” Hermione announced. “Just as I am the cure to his. That’s just how it is. We need the sort of Healing power only a married couple can call upon if we are ever to fix ourselves properly, so I need to know exactly what I am facing before I am able to commit myself to my half of the bargain.

“So I need you to show me what I am up against … by taking me into Harry’s mindscape.”

“Okay, but how am I supposed to do that, when Harry’s spirit is residing in you?” Enola asked, fairly.

“By creating a link between my mind and Harry’s … and using Celesca Lovegood,” Hermione announced. “I think her Seer magic can safely cross into the deepest levels of any mind … in fact, she told me that she’s already done that with me. That’s where we’ll find Harry … and if I can get into his mind, Celesca can create this bridge between me and him … and he’ll come back to us. Can you do it?”

“We’d need my Mum, and Nev, and use of Harry’s Ritual Room,” Enola replied. “And permission from your friend to use her daughter, obviously. But I think it can be done.”

“Then set it up.”

“What … right now?”

“Yes, _right now_!” Hermione huffed, impatiently. “Please have Rhian fetch Luna and Celesca to me so that I can ask them to help us, and to bring me my Ritual Robe, too. Also here, also now.”

"Yes, _my Lady_ ," said Enola, curtseying theatrically with a wide grin. She walked to the fireplace on the far side of the room and threw a handful of Floo Powder into the hearth. Emerald green flames leapt up in the grate. "Mum! I need you. Bring your ritual kit and your rune stylus. The antimony one."

"Thanks," Hermione smiled as the flames died away. "Sorry to be so bossy. I'm just going mental with Harry being stuck in there all alone."

"I know, me too," said Enola. "Get yourself down to the Ritual Chamber. I'll sort everything else this side and send Luna and your stuff directly there. Don’t worry, Min, I think this is going to work. I really do."

“I hope so,” Hermione grinned bracingly. “Because once Harry is back I need to borrow his power to do something unprecedented.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to have him bring Narcissa Malfoy here so I can be anointed as his Consort,” Hermione revealed. “Then I’m going to spend every waking moment, and every bit of power I posses, trying to rip apart that Marriage Bond that’s infecting me … and when I do, I hope Ron will feel it … and that it really, _really_ hurts him!” 


	34. All In The Mind

****** **

****Disclaimers:**** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. ****Extra Disclaimer:**** mention of Harry's potential physical abuse as a child

* * *

It took barely an hour to set everything up. Enola and her mother worked quickly and Hermione watched in deep fascination. They identified the four cardinal points and placed a representation of each of the four elements at each corresponding point; a candle, a feather, a crystal, a sea shell with water in it. Then Enola drew a glowing circle with her wand to join them, while Arianwen etched out various runes with her stylus, pushing her power into them and making them glow in vivid colours. Then they held hands and chanted into the circle to complete the process.

When they were done, the circle teemed with magic. It made Hermione’s hair stand on end.

“It’s done,” said Enola stepping back. “We’ve created you your own temporary circle within Harry’s Ritual Chamber, as I don’t know if you are quite ready to handle the intensity of the magic imbibed within this place just yet. Yours will last a few hours, but after that it will lose potency. So, what’s the plan, why are we doing this?”

“I met with Amelie Flamel in Paris,” Hermione explained as she tried to flatten a crease in her Ritual Robe. “She said that this is all about me, that if I want to fix the problems around me I’m the one who has to decide how. And I have.”

“Care to elaborate?” Enola quirked. “What we are doing is potentially risky … I need to know as much as you can tell me in case I need to react quickly.”

“That’s fair,” Hermione nodded in thanks. “I’ve decided that I need Harry to repair all of my damages. Not fix them for me … but _with me_. The potency of our power when we are together is the answer we have both been searching for. The rest of the world may not agree … and I know that you have your doubts, too … but, and try not to take offence at this, as far as I’m concerned everyone else can go and hang themselves if they don’t like it.

“This is me and Harry we are talking about … and if we want to rely on each other for comfort and happiness, then that’s just what we’ll do!”

“Cant say fairer than that!” Enola grinned. “So what’s the idea behind the ritual?”

“Amelie told me that to create a bridge to Harry I have to be the one who makes the first step,” Hermione explained. “Lily, like you, said that the emotional foundations for the bridge have to be strong … but this is one of those complex bits of allegory that I’m only just beginning to understand.

“The bridge starts with me, but it also ends with me, too. It’s a complete circle of wholeness within myself, I’ve just not seen it as a circular bridge before. But I got to thinking about what little Celesca said to me, about Harry having a cord that was reaching out from him for me, and I got to wondering if they were the same thing … that it wasn’t so much a straight road I was trying to create, but more of a ring that I was trying to interlock with Harry’s own.”

“Interlocking rings?” Enola’s quipped. “That sounds a hell of a lot like a Marriage Bond, Hermione!”

“Good! I’m glad you think so, too, because that was just what I thought!” Hermione beamed. “So if I can begin to push this cord of energetic love out of myself towards the one coming from Harry, it might be just enough to give him a route back into his mind. It’s tangled up with my Marriage Bond to Ron at the moment, but once I tear that apart I can finally link with Harry’s and seal it permanently … when Narcissa Malfoy joins us as husband and wife.”

“So how do you intend to start?”

“By committing myself fully on every level,” Hermione went on. “As much as I want to now, it’s only in my conscious mind. Until I know everything that’s going on, there will always be a niggle of doubt or uncertainty. It’s only natural. And the way I’m going to overcome it is to fill in my knowledge gaps, by going into Harry’s mind and seeing this mindscape you created with him.”

“And how are you going to get into Harry’s mind? I have my own link to it, but you don’t. It’ll be too dangerous to drill into Harry’s head now to create a path for you, and I’ve never taken another person along my own conduit. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have this little cherub take me,” Hermione revealed, smiling down at Celesca Lovegood, who was being held protectively close by Luna.

“Are you sure you know how to do that?” Enola asked cautiously, bending down to be on eye level with the little Seer.

“Oh yes, I can get in to Mister Harry’s mind and take Miss Hermione with me,” Celesca chirped, brightly. “My special magic can hold hands with the energy of other people, and I can take it with me when I go. And I’ve been before, see, so I know my way around.”

“And what do you intend to do when you are there?” Enola asked, standing and addressing Hermione again.

“To delve deep into Harry, see what these horrors are that he carries inside, then make binding vows to return there and heal him of them,” Hermione revealed. “Harry once said that promises made in this house will become actual bonds if you really mean them. Well, I _really_ mean these ones … I mean them more than anything else I’ve ever sworn to in my entire life. And I’m hoping that if I make the promises so deep inside Harry that he will have no choice but to accept them into the very energy of his spirit, that they will act like a tether to anchor him back inside his mind when I leave it. I’m confident it will work.”

“This isn’t dangerous, is it?” asked Luna, who was holding onto Celesca from behind, pulling her motherly close. Hermione smiled fondly at them. Seeing them together now it was clear that Celesca was Luna’s daughter, they looked so alike, especially now that Luna had all her hair back.

“No, it’s fine, Mummy,” said Celesca, looking up at Luna to pacify her. “Miss Hermione will be quite safe.”

Hermione grinned down at her. “I think your Mum meant dangerous for _you_ , sweetheart.”

“Oh,” Celesca frowned. “I’ll be all right. Come on. Mister Harry needs our help.”

“Luna, please … I’m begging you,” Hermione pleaded. “We’re all Harry has. I promise I won’t do anything risky. If it looks like we’re in danger, I’ll have Celesca bring us out.”

“Mummy, we wont be hurt in there, we cant be … because we are not Mister Harry,” Celesca promised vehemently. “Please, let us find him and bring him home. He must be lonely and scared by now.”

Luna nodded. “Okay, honey. But Cesc … don’t do anything silly. Promise me.”

“I promise, Mummy. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie,” said Luna, fondly. She turned to Hermione. “I’ll give you an hour with her. After that, she’ll be pushed too far.”

“Thank you, that’s more than fair,” Hermione nodded, squeezing Luna’s hands. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of wasting any time in there.”

“Then let’s get to it,” said Enola. “Ladies … please enter the circle.”

Hermione switched to holding Celesca’s hand and guided her through the wall of magic shimmering around the temporary ritual circle. It was like stepping through a giant bubble of oily light. Hermione shivered at it, as though all her skin had been tickled at once. Celesca grinned up at her.

“That felt funny,” she said with a cutesy smile.

“How do we do this?” Hermione asked.

“Just close your eyes, try to relax, and breath deeply” said Celesca. “I’ll find your mind with my special magic … then take you into Mister Harry’s head.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed. She sounded doubtful, but she sat cross-legged opposite Celesca and closed her eyes anyway, giving herself over to the power of the Seer.

“Just imagine an empty space,” Celesca instructed in a calm, ethereal voice.

Hermione followed the direction and breathed deeply, summoning the magic of the circle as Harry had shown her how. It flowed gently around them and Hermione was loosely aware of an external presence lurking just outside her mind. It was soft, child-like, but also sorrowful. This was Hermione’s first intimate connection with Celesca’s psyche, and she immediately felt such pity for the tiny girl.

For she seemed like an old matron already. The things this poor child must have seen through the eyes of others … all the pain and the horror of a thousand lifetimes … Hermione railed against it. Life was just so unfair, it would seem.

Then suddenly she was in a brilliantly white room, lit so brightly that it was almost blinding. The initial shock passed after a few seconds and Hermione looked around, seeing for the first time the calm space in her own mind. She gasped. For she was hit with such a powerful sense of Harry’s presence that she thought this might be over in minutes, that she’d found him without even trying. It was as if he was there, just out of sight. She reasoned that this was just his essence from the Potter ring again, or their innate connection rearing its head inside her own.

“Harry?” she asked out cautiously.

“He can’t hear you, Miss, we aren’t deep enough,” said Celesca, who was suddenly standing behind Hermione, waiting patiently with her hands behind her back, swaying slightly on the spot. She looked eerily odd, jutting out from the complete whiteness as a shock of something different as she was. It was almost like a scene from a scary movie.

“But I can _feel_ him,” Hermione complained.

“Yes, I can too,” said Celesca. “It’s because we are close to him in your mind, Miss, but the barrier between us is massive. This is just the surface, like a reception bit. It’s how your normal senses see your mind, the way it makes you understand it.”

“I see … I think. And how do we get to Harry’s?”

“This is called a Construct,” Celesca explained in a patient air, as though she were the adult describing the complexities of finger painting to a five-year-old. “We aren’t really here, you and me, but our minds are, sort of like a dream that we are awake in. So if I touch you, I don’t do it with my fingers, but with my mind and my magic. Do you get it now?”

“Yes, yes I think so,” Hermione replied, scrunching her brows as she considered it. “So if you take my hand here, it’s actually you taking my mind in reality?”

“Yes, Miss, that’s it!” Celesca twittered, happily. “And because I can see the way we need to go, I can take you so long as you hold on to me. So come on, it’s this way.”

Celesca offered her hand and Hermione took it. They walked on, down a dark, tubular corridor that Hermione hadn’t noticed before. This was the link then, that Celesca had effortlessly created between her mind and Harry’s. Her power was extraordinary, not to mention deeply fascinating. It went far beyond prophecy and prediction in ways Hermione might not have expected it to before. It was something worthy of further consideration later.

But for the time being, she had plenty to occupy her thoughts … because Hermione was just now stepping from her body and into Harry’s own.

It was an odd sensation, to be leaving her own physical form. It was cold as she passed along the connection, as though all of her outside layers had been stripped away at once. She felt stretched, airy … somehow thinned out. This would take some getting used to. She breathed raggedly and squeezed Celesca’s hand for reassurance.

“It’s okay, Miss, don’t be scared,” said Celesca, gently. “I’ll look after you.”

It was the most bizarre feeling, to be so comforted by this child. But Hermione couldn’t resist it. The girl just had something about her presence, a soothing energy that Hermione struggled to describe. She felt safe under her guidance and gave to her wholly.

“We’re here, Miss Hermione. This is it,” Celesca whispered, lowly.

Hermione blinked. The tube-like corridor had opened up onto something entirely different. They were now in a long hallway, poorly lit by dirty ceiling lights, half of which were spluttering in and out of life. Faded, emerald green wallpaper peeled off the walls and there were distant noises that Hermione couldn’t quite pick out, behind a number of doors with angular, irregular frames set into the left-hand side of the hallway. The whole place was dense with a sweet, rotting smell, as though something had died and nobody had bothered to clear away the corpse.

Hermione quailed as the sounds rose in volume the closer they got ... for all of the noises were those of obvious, terrified distress.

“I thought you said it looked like a building with lots of floors,” said Hermione, perplexed and quivering from the chill of the place.

“It does, for me,” Celesca explained, as she looked around curiously. “But this is how _you_ see it. Or maybe how Mister Harry sees it. But it’s the same place.”

“And what are we looking at, exactly?” Hermione asked in a shivery voice. She couldn’t explain the sensations crawling over her shifting skin, as though it wasn’t just the cold that was chilling her, but the very ambiance of the place. It was thoroughly creepy down here.

“This is where Mister Harry buries all his bad memories,” Celesca elaborated. “All the nasty things he’s known and seen, they are all down here. The awake bit, the part we all know and talk to and things, that’s the part stuck inside you. But I should tell you, Miss, that this is the last chance you’ll get to change your mind about this. The things you might see in here are really terrible and horrible … and you wont be able to unsee them once you have. So you’d best be sure before you go on.”

“I have to do this, I cant let Harry suffer alone,” Hermione replied stoutly. “I want to see, so I can help him.”

“You _don’t_ want to see … believe me, you don’t. You’ll see in the end that I’m right. Just know I told you not to.”

“Whatever happens, it wont be your fault,” Hermione reassured the Seer. “So where do we start?”

“Look down there.”

Celesca pointed along the dank, angular corridor. There were six doors that Hermione could see, but the corridor went on way beyond them into a blurry sort of fog with an eerie red light set high against the ceiling.

“That’s what I see on the lower floors when I come here on my own,” said Celesca, nodding at that weird mist. “We wont be able to get through there, I bet. It’s where the pretty lady dug too deep last time. Only Mister Harry can reach it now.”

“And what’s down there?” Hermione asked.

Celesca shook her head and frowned. “I don’t know, Miss. I can’t get to there, but I _can_ see into it.”

“What do you see?”

Celesca turned her pity-filled eyes to Hermione. “ _You_ , Miss … and the horrible gingerbread man. I know … I know about the bad things he did to you.”

Celesca’s ethereal voice was comforting and sympathetic, and as those watery eyes fixed firmly on Hermione, her breathing hitched and surprised tears stung her eyes. She felt Celesca’s tiny hand slip into her own and give it a gentle squeeze. She choked her breath out to regain control, then they moved off together along the corridor.

“What am I going to find here, Celesca? What can I expect?” asked Hermione. “Have you been into all of these rooms?”

Celesca nodded. “Yes, Miss Hermione, but for me they are like floors, like I told you. I walk up and down a big staircase to reach them. You should know … all but one of these places are bad … _really_ bad. You wont like what you see in any of them.”

“Why? What are they?”

“Mister Harry’s bad memories and thoughts … all playing out again and again,” said Celesca in a fraught little voice. “All his pains and fears and worries become _real_ things down here, Miss. It’s a horrible place, it really is. I feel so sorry for Mister Harry to have to carry this inside. I’d like to help him … but I don’t know how I can. His monsters are very real down here, Miss. And _very_ scary.”

“Can I interact with them?” asked Hermione. “Can I get rid of any of them?”

Celesca shook her head. “No, Miss. These are Mister Harry’s memories, his darknesses. We are just watching. Can only be part of it when Mister Harry is here. They come properly alive then … and it’s so _frightening_ , I can’t tell you.”

“How? What happens to Harry when he’s here?”

“He goes back … into the memory,” said Celesca. “He _becomes_ that Mister Harry again, like he was when it happened in the first place. He lives it all over again, and tries to make it better like that.”

“Does it work?” asked Hermione, horrorstruck.

Celesca shook her head sadly again. “No, Miss, it wont ever work. If he knew how to beat it, I don’t think it would be here in the first place, do you?”

Hermione gasped aloud. “No, I suppose not. But how can he be helped? What can we do for him?”

“I don’t know, Miss Hermione,” said Celesca, quietly. “I really don’t …”

Hermione fought a strangled sob. Poor Harry. _Her poor Harry!_ Hermione’s heart broke at the very concept. She had to find a way to help, to get rid of … _whatever_ she was likely to find down here. She took a moment to compose herself … then she took the handle of the first door and opened it with fierce trepidation.

And slammed it closed again almost instantly, clutching at her now colourless cheeks.

“D-dementors?” she panted lowly. “ _Thousands_ of them!”

“Told you it wasn’t nice, Miss,” said Celesca, piously. “Come on, I won’t let them hurt you.”

Celesca took Hermione’s hand again and led her inside the Dark Plain. Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock, for as soon as they entered this gloomy space a blast of light shot out from Celesca and covered them both in a orb of brightness. Hermione felt utterly shielded from anything outside of this shimmering dome of positive energy. It was as if Celesca’s very _innocence_ was a power in and of itself.

And, with a shuddering jolt, Hermione suddenly understood just why the girl had been chosen for ritual sacrifice by Tom Riddle.

Hermione clutched Celesca’s hand tightly, as if to try and protect her right back. Together, they walked forwards and Hermione looked around in awestruck horror. They were in a vast plain, dark and shadowy as far as Hermione could see in every direction. Angry, silver lightening flashed against a bruise-purple sky, casting a rutted, spiky landscape into stark and shocking relief. And there were Dementors everywhere, far more than Hermione could count. She could do little more than stare open-mouthed at their massive numbers.

And then there was the air itself. It was thick with oppression, coated in worry and throbbing with prickly anxiety. Hermione felt it sting her own skin. Her breaths were heavy, leaden. It was as if she was stuck in a fog of poisonous fumes, which settled acridly dry in her throat.

“All Mister Harry’s fears come here,” Celesca whispered. “Everything he’s afraid of.”

“And what happens to Harry when he comes in here?”

“He just loses his mind, really, Miss,” said Celesca. “There’s just too many darknesses to fight, even for him. I think he comes here on purpose, to try and deal with as many as he can manage, so he’s better when he’s back outside. But then he falls down, and the pretty lady has to come and rescue him mostly.”

“Her name’s Enola,” said Hermione. And, she thought, when she got out of here, she was definitely going to have a _long_ chat with her new friend. They _had_ to find a way to help Harry. This place was devastatingly dismal and Hermione had hardly been in here any time at all.

Then Hermione screeched in fright. For the spectral form of Tom Riddle’s head, pinned into the back of a turban, suddenly rushed past them. Hermione hauled in a shaky breath.

“He’s a very bad man, isn’t he, Miss?” asked Celesca, watching thoughtfully as _Quirrellmort_ moved rapidly away from them. “He’s here a lot, in lots of different shapes.”

“Yes, he’s a bad man,” said Hermione, looking back at Riddle’s retreating form with hateful disdain. “He’s the worst.”

They walked on, for ages and ages. Hermione lost track of how long they were walking for. She had no idea where they were going, but Celesca seemed to have a practiced route. Hermione almost wished she didn’t, for the horrors she was seeing were cutting jagged slashes through her very heart … Sirius falling through the Veil, Harry’s parents being cut down by Voldemort, Harry running from the basilisk in The Chamber of Secrets … all of his dark moments made flesh before Hermione’s eyes.

Hermione hadn’t even known that Harry had ever been frightened when he was down in the Chamber. He’d never mentioned it to her. She had been Petrified, after all, unable to help. But now she saw it, felt the fear from Harry’s eyes and mind as he tried desperately to help undeserving Ginny Weasley ... as all the while his frantic mind was locked onto that spot in the Hospital Wing, where a young Hermione lay cold and unmoving, lifeless for all intents and beyond any aid that young Harry knew how to render. And the knowing of that made him wild with panic.

For it seemed that, even then, a part of Harry had started to love Hermione, and the thought of her in pain or danger was enough to drive him to the most reckless of actions to try and make her safe and better.

Hermione’s heart broke and bled and broke again … and then.

“Wow. What the hell is this?”

For she was looking at herself, half transfigured into a cat.

“Mister Harry hates this part, Miss,” said Celesca. “I think it’s one of the worst bits in here. He cries so much seeing you like this, but I think it’s more because of how sad it made you rather than about him. He worries when you aren’t happy, I think.”

“Oh, _Harry …_ ” Hermione breathed in sorrow. She’d never known, he’d never told her about this, either.

“You’d better do your spell here, Miss,” Celesca advised. “Mister Harry comes to these parts most often, and I reckon this is about the middle of it. Best to do it here, in the heart of darkness.”

Hermione swallowed hard at that use of phrase, then she hesitated. For as much as she intended to come here and fight for Harry, she had no idea how to form these tethers she’d mentioned to Enola, hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Luckily, Celesca was a Seer for a reason.

“Remember, Miss, this isn’t a real place and you aren’t really here, only your mind and magic is,” Celesca reminded her gently. “You can make your promises in whatever way you like in here. That way, you’ll know how to find your way back. Think of it as your own personal trail of breadcrumbs.”

Hermione grinned at that. But what could she use? What symbol would Harry recognise as safe when he was here, one that he would associate wholly with her? He always said that it was her mind that thrilled him the most, that it was her intelligence that he found as rousing and attractive as any of her other qualities. And there was only one, rather simple, object that embodied this the most blatantly.

“A book?” Celesca quirked, scrunching her nose. “You’re making your promise with a book? Why?”

“Because it is a declaration of my intent,” Hermione smiled. “I vow to leave this tome here. It is full of all the great moments in Harry’s life, especially the ones he’s shared with me. When he reads them his heart will be so full of joy that it will shield him from these darknesses all around, and show him the way home. Then, when we write the final chapter together, we will read it out loud … and banish these evils from his mind for good.”

Celesca seemed to erupt in light at that, as the vow settled on the plain like a burst of sunshine. “I like that, Miss Hermione! I really do! And I think it’s working … look!”

Hermione followed to where Celesca was excitedly pointing. For there, anchored into the ground by a bolt of lightening held in bizarre freeze-frame, the scarlet and gold tome was gleaming bright and beautiful against the black sand, held steady on a fine, golden chain.

“That’s the first part done, Miss!” Celesca sang, happily. “I can feel a strand of Mister Harry’s energy coming right close to here. I think you need to do that in every other place now and Mister Harry will know where to go … he’ll follow your breadcrumbs right back to you!”

“Then let’s go on to the next one!” Hermione beamed, astonished that her bridge to Harry would be made of book-shaped breadcrumbs … she had been expecting cement and steel at the very least. “So … how do we get out?”

“We just turn around,” Celesca explained, brightly.

Confused, Hermione span on the spot … and her mouth promptly fell open. For the door they had entered by was still directly behind them, oddly stark against that imposing gloom beyond it. It was as if they haven’t moved at all.

“I really don’t like this,” Hermione hushed, lowly. This whole experience was deeply unsettling.

“Me, neither,” Celesca nodded vigorously. “See, I told you they ought not to have done this to poor Mister Harry.”

Hermione couldn’t agree more … but the next room didn’t improve on things. Hermione fought against tears as she saw Harry fall fifty feet from a broom, get smashed in the face by a bludger - and later in the arm, too - then get kicked in the face by Draco Malfoy’s angry boot. Hermione watched as Harry was next chased and gouged by the Hungarian Horntail he’d faced during the Triwizard Tournament, then had his flesh cut open by Peter Pettigrew’s enchanted silver dagger and Dolores Umbridge’s hated blood quill.

There were a hundred other woundings in here, some that Hermione knew Harry must have received in the years after his faux-death. There were simply too many to look at in one sitting. Then, one she knew all too well came to the fore, as she watched Harry writhing and screaming against the fierce, white-hot burning in his old scar, as his mind was furiously attacked over and over by Lord Voldemort.

And then, in a way that angered as much as shocked her, she saw her own memories, snippets of her vicious beatings by Ron … only with Harry in her place where he’d stolen the pain from her. A residue of it had clearly remained, despite Harry’s insistence that he had passed it all on to Enola. Hermione thought she should have guessed that he’d have kept some for himself. She felt a sort of sickness she’d never experienced before and she roiled against it, as she watched Harry being beaten to a broken pulp under the fists and weapons of that ginger fucknugget she had been forced to marry.

But it was when she saw Harry’s face, his beautiful face, getting ripped apart sinew by sinew from Tom Riddle’s Avada Kedavra in the Forbidden Forest that Hermione could take no more.

“Get me out of here,” she sobbed to Celesca. “Please, no more!”

“I will, but you need to do your spell first,” Celesca cajoled, fitfully. She was white with worry at Hermione’s suffering. “I know it’s hard, but you must … it’s to make Mister Harry better, remember?”

Hermione drew in a rattling breath. “Yes … yes you’re right.”

She hauled herself to her feet and conjured another large tome between her palms.

“With this book I vow to heal Harry, to create spells to rid him of any earthly pain. I will stand with him in sickness … and return him to health. When I am next here, this spell book will tell me how.”

The vow settled with another flash of light, another lightening-shaped anchor secured the book to the plain, and Hermione turned and stumbled out of the door.

Back in the relative safety of the hallway, Hermione curled up into a ball on the ragged, moth-eaten carpet and wept helpless tears. Harry was so wounded … so, so wounded. How could she have allowed this to happen to him? How could she stand for it now? She had never felt so distressed. Not in all the years under Ron’s boot, not in any time she could ever remember. She just _had_ to help him. She would find a way, she swore it.

“Miss Hermione?”

Celesca’s delicate question, phrased in a tiny voice, pulled Hermione back to the task at hand. She sat up and dabbed at her eyes.

“That was his Pain Plain, am I right?” asked Hermione. Celesca nodded. “So we’ve had Fear … and now Pain … so the worst must be over, then?”

Celesca looked doubtfully at her. “For you, maybe, but these are just the normal levels, the ones that most people have in their minds, even if they aren’t separate like this. But the next place is the one that Mister Harry is the most scared of.”

“I’m not sure I even want to know,” said Hermione. “What’s in there?”

“You need to see it yourself,” Celesca mumbled. “Easier that way, instead of me telling you.”

Hermione took the handle of the next door. The intensity of deep foreboding radiating from it was tangible. It was with a ridiculous amount of dread that Hermione began her search of this plain.

But, on initial appearances, it wasn’t so bad. The air was fairly still, there was nothing to suggest what it was. But then, things began to appear. And Hermione’s heart felt like it had actually shattered. She fell to her knees as the scenes flashed in front of her … for there was a common theme linking them all together.

For she, herself, was in every single one of them.

Here she was, Petrified in the Hogwarts Infirmary, crying in the girl’s bathroom, sitting depressed and friendless at lunch, as Harry and Ron moodily huffed at her and talked loudly about Harry’s confiscated Firebolt. Then she was dancing with Viktor Krum, and crying again as Ron cut her down. Then, the worst … she was _kissing_ Ron, as Harry looked on, aghast, from a point behind them. And the emotion of the room snapped in pained anguish, as if Harry’s broken heart was the very air itself.

“What is this?” asked Hermione in unremitting horror, massaging her aching chest.

“This place is all about _you_ , Miss,” Celesca explained. “All that Mister Harry regrets and doesn’t like about things he’s done or said to you live in here. He _really_ doesn’t like coming in here. I’ve seen him just sit outside sometimes, and bang his head against the door. He never wants to come in. For him, it's the very _worst_ place he could go.”

“What sort of book can I leave in here, do you think?” Hermione asked, fretful and keen to leave quickly. That image of Ron’s tongue in her mouth was threatening projectile nausea. “I don’t know of any spells that can undo _regret_.”

“No, Miss, not much you can do about the past, is there, as it’s already done?” Celesca mused. “But what you can do, is make sure the future is brighter. Make sure no more regrets can be made.”

“That’s brilliantly insightful!” Hermione exclaimed. “You really are such a clever little girl, aren’t you? I make my vow in here in the form of a diary … blank, and ready to be filled with sweet new memories. We shall not regret the past, Harry, just pity it that it cannot be a part of our future.”

The vow illuminated the place and Hermione allowed Celesca to lead her back to the corridor, as the light dimmed and fell away. She felt weak and shaky with emotion now.

Hermione closed the door with a little click and then rested against the hallway wall a moment. Her mind was pounding against the inside of her skull and she needed to take stock, to bring it under her control again. Of all the horrors, all the terrors she had imagined in this place, she had never quite appreciated that they would be quite so fierce, or quite so numerous and visceral. She knew that Harry had suffered greatly in his life, of course she did, and that he carried some serious scars both inside and out … but this … well, this was far beyond even the darkest of her expectations.

Hermione huffed crossly as she weighed them all up and tried to process each image rationally. Standing there, she made a firm decision. Screw the war, screw Riddle and Ron and every Death Eater fucker out there. She was going to heal Harry of this as a matter of urgency. That was her priority now, and the rest of the world could just kiss her pert little arse if they had a problem with it. But they were only half way through this jaunt through Harry’s own personal purgatory, and Hermione had more anchors to lay before her foundation was complete.

 _“But just how much more can I bear to see?”_ Hermione thought, painfully. She felt emotionally exhausted by all this.

Then Celesca gave Hermione a shot of energy. “Mister Harry is so much closer now, Miss! I can feel him, and I think he must be able to feel us, too! We have to keep going.”

Hermione took a deep breath and moved on to the next door, stupidly wary of what she might find behind it. But she halted as she stood in front of it. It was bland, nondescript. It didn’t emit the same sort of foreboding as the others, nor did it have any of the frightening noises shrieking from within.

And it looked out of place. Whereas the others were all in crooked, jagged frames, like something from a sort of nightmare hotel floor, this was totally different. For a start, it was only half the height of the others. Hermione wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fit under it. It also wasn’t recessed as the rest were. It looked like a barn door or a horse gate, or maybe even ...

“A cupboard under the stairs?” Hermione breathed out, perplexed. “Why in the world …”

But Celesca was suddenly fraught, turning to Hermione with wide, frightened eyes.

“Shouldn’t go in there, Miss, not this one … shouldn’t … mustn’t … best to do your spell outside this time.”

“But why?”

“Bad place in there, Miss … the _worst,_ probably. You’d be better off not seeing, _”_ said Celesca, darkly. “Come on … do your spell out here and let’s go away. The next one is Mister Harry’s quiet place … he likes it there, we can rest a bit if you want … come on, Miss Hermione, let’s go …”

Celesca tugged fruitlessly at Hermione’s robe, but she held firm.

She frowned at the plain door. “What’s in there, Celesca?”

Luna’s daughter looked up. She was so scared, so fitfully anxious that she was actually trembling.

“It’s the worst place, Miss Hermione. “We have to go. You don’t want to see in _there_. Come _on,_ Miss!”

Celesca tugged hopelessly again on Hermione’s robes, groaning in frustration at being unable to move her along. So she moved to her other side and tried to push Hermione instead, but to no avail. Hermione was determined … she had to see what was inside now that her curiosity was piqued. She knelt down next to Celesca.

“Honey, sshh, it’s okay … tell me why I don’t want to look in there.”

Celesca shook her head furiously from side to side, so rapid in fact that her eyes became unfocused.

“Please …” Hermione prompted. “I have to know about all of these places. What’s so bad about this one?”

Celesca sighed wearily in defeat. “It’s Mister Harry, he’s … he’s _different_ in here. He’s … he’s very,” she said hoarsely. “Very _young_ in that place.”

Hermione felt her heart stop a moment. She blinked at Celesca. “Young? Is Harry a _child_ inthere, is that what you’re saying?”

Celesca nodded, still quivering as she did so. “My age, Miss, and a bit older. No more than ten at most.”

“And what happens to him in there?”

“He gets hurt Miss, over and over,” said Celesca, breathing rapidly in her restless anxiety. “By a fat man with a red face, and the skinny lady who looks like a horse.”

“His Aunt and Uncle?” Hermione thought aloud in her horror. Then she sucked in a breath of comprehension, as she looked back in dismay at the door … “Oh, of course …”

_“They kept him in a cupboard for eleven years … ELEVEN YEARS, Hermione … what the fuck is that about?”_

Neville’s words echoed in Hermione’s mind and she froze. She pinned her eyes back to the door. This mindscape was where Harry siphoned off his negative memories, the wounds and scars from his life … including the ones _pre-Hogwarts_ , from the time before Hermione had known him. These were the ones he’d never spoken openly about to anyone, not even to her. She shouldn’t go in … Harry might never forgive her for violating this fiercely guarded privacy.

But she was already turning the handle … and she immediately wished that she hadn’t.

For there was a swift whipping sound, followed by a sickening crack, that Hermione knew was a cruel back-hander to the face. Ron had given her plenty of those over the years for her to recognise the sound. But this wasn’t Ron, and that pitiful, helpless yelp wasn’t her own. She turned in time to see a carpeted staircase materialise in front of her and Harry, no more than seven or eight years old, came tumbling down it till he hit the bottom, where he lay in a tangled heap, quite still and motionless, as bruises and lumps bloomed all over his unconscious head.

Hermione tried to cry out, but the sound got lost somewhere in her throat.

The scene faded and then Harry was there, a little bit older, cradling his left wrist tenderly in the gloom. He was blowing futilely at an angry burn in the shape of a cooker hob grate, which was welting on his hand, and trying desperately to keep his crying silent, as his puffy eyes stared in abject terror towards the locked cupboard door; then Harry was cowering away from the hand of a doctor, as his Uncle talked conversationally about him stupidly hurting himself with a drill bit that he’d carelessly left out following a DIY project, and glaring into Harry’s terrified eyes to remind him threateningly not to tell the truth about the ‘accident’; and finally, Hermione saw a young Harry balled up in the foetal position, clutching at his stomach where cruel starvation was making him double up in excruciating agony.

“No more! No more!” Hermione shrieked, inconsolable against the images pounding into her. She was so upset that she turned and vomited profusely until she collapsed, totally spent.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” little Celesca cried, flopping down at Hermione’s side. “I told you we shouldn’t have come. I told you!”

Hermione was jolted back to cogency by Celesca’s distress. She rolled over again, right into her pool of vomit, which Hermione appreciated on some level must have been in the form of some sort of mind plasma.

“It’s not your fault, sweetheart, it’s really not,” Hermione tried to soothe her. She cleaned her vomit with a whispered thought. “See? It’s all gone.”

“Then we should go, too,” Celesca insisted.

“We will, once I’ve thought of a vow for this place,” Hermione promised. “But this is Harry’s idea of family, of childhood … and it’s totally broken. How do I fix that?”

“Maybe not with a book this time, Miss,” Celesca suggested. “But maybe with an album … a _photo album_ … one you can fill with pictures of your own babies … of the family you want to make with Mister Harry, to show him how it should be done properly.”

“Absolute _genius_!” Hermione exclaimed. “You really are the brightest child I’ve ever met. Let’s do that, then get the heck out of here!”

Then next plain was far easier. It was Harry’s Resting Plain and Hermione did as she was told in here … and rested awhile. The anchor was simple too, a storybook of tales that they could read to each other and to their future children, the ones Hermione was now beside herself with excitement to think about.

Then they stepped back into the hallway once more. There was only one more door left … and Hermione fancied she knew what was behind this one.

“The Weasels,” Celesca confirmed when Hermione aired her suspicions about its contents to her.

“Weas _leys_ ,” Hermione corrected with a smirk.

Celesca frowned. “No, I’m pretty sure they are weasels, but you know them better than me, so maybe you're the one that's right. But the place is all about them, whatever they are."

Hermione laughed and clutched Celesca to her. “Maybe we can both be right. So, what’s in here?”

But it wasn’t Celesca who answered … it was a voice that seemed to speak from the very walls around them.

“My final anchor … and a place you don’t need to see.”

“ _Harry!"_ Hermione shrieked. “Where are you? I cant see you.”

“But I can see you, and that’s all that matters,” Harry replied from wherever he was. “You’ve done brilliantly, Hermione, and I can see my way home now. And you, little Miss Lovegood, deserve a big hug when I get back in there. You really are a little star, you know.”

Celesca blushed furiously and buried her head into Hermione’s thigh.

“Hey, no flirting with other witches!” Hermione admonished playfully.

“Hermione … she’s _five_!” Harry chuckled lightly.

“And a half!” Celesca corrected in a voice muffled by Hermione’s robe.

“I don’t care, I said ‘no’!” Hermione teased. “Now, how do you get back?”

“I need you to make room for me,” Harry explained in his disembodied voice. “Sharing a body with one other mind should be impossible, I don’t even want to attempt it with two of you in there. I want Celesca to return you to your own head, then I can follow your tethers and end up in my last plain, where the anchor Ennie set with Percy’s energy will be enough to secure me in my body again. I want to finish establishing that link before I wake back up, to complete what we started when you took that Weasel's head off. They’ve had enough leisure time away from me as it is, I don’t want them to think that this is an indefinite holiday.”

“So when will you wake up?” Hermione asked, frantically. “I’ve missed you, you know!”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Harry laughed. “But this ritual will drain you out. You’ll need a good night’s sleep yourself once you get out of here. By the time you wake up, I intend to be at your bedside, bringing you breakfast in bed. How do you like your eggs, boiled or scrambled?”

“Is fertilised by you and growing in my belly too much to ask for?” Hermione quirked, hopefully.

“What’s _fertilised_ mean? Andcan you really grow eggs in your belly?” Celesca quizzed, innocently, pulling her head up to ask. “That would be really handy, wouldn’t it, if you wanted to make one of those … what does Mummy call it? … one of them _hom-hell-ette_ things or something?”

Hermione chuckled deeply. “Come on, little Seer, let’s get you back to your Mummy … maybe she can tell you all about it.”

“Coward …” Harry whispered playfully with a laugh in his voice.

“Hush you,” Hermione grinned at the air. “You just get yourself back to me, or I’ll get very cross with you.”

“Yes, Boss!” Harry agreed obediently.

A minute or so later and Celesca had led Hermione back along the cool connecting corridor and back into the stillness of her own mind. They reversed the process from before and in the blink of an eye Hermione found herself aware of her body physically again. Her arms and legs felt stiff, her eyes so sticky from sleep that she had to prize them open with her fingers.

And Hermione turned straight to her side as she did, to Enola who was sat with her in the dark, but not before clocking that she was back in her own bedroom.

“What happened? How am I here?” Hermione demanded.

“We brought you here after the ritual,” Enola explained in a soft voice. “It wiped out poor little Celesca, and you as well. We thought you’d be more comfortable up here.”

“Thanks, that was considerate of you,” Hermione smiled back. “How’s Harry? I think it worked, so he might be awake by now.”

She made to get up, but Enola eased her gently back down.

“It did work, but Harry hasn’t come around yet,” Enola confirmed. “But we can all feel his presence back in his own body. Even the house feels a degree warmer. Whatever you did, it was stunning work.”

Hermione sighed in relief, but still pulled herself to sit up fully.

“You _knew_ ,” she breathed to Enola. “You knew how horrific it was … and you didn’t warn me anything like enough.”

Enola looked back nervously. “They aren’t my secrets to tell, but would _anything_ have adequately prepared you?” she asked in a tiny voice. “Harry … he … he said …”

“Harry was _always_ going to _say!”_ Hermione admonished, crossly. “You _know_ what he’s like ... he never asks for help, even when he’s crying out for it.”

“I’m sorry, Min,” said Enola, guiltily. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you, should have tried harder to explain …”

Hermione wanted to rage, to explode. But Enola’s distress was so acute that Hermione’s fury ebbed away in the face of it. She took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

“Just don’t keep anything like that from me again, okay? No matter what Harry has told you. We know what’s best for him, you and I, so we have to stick together for his own good! Alright?”

Enola nodded vigorously. “Definitely. No more secrets, I promise. You know how terrible I am at keeping them anyway … it will be nice not to have to try anymore!”

“Okay,” Hermione chortled. But her laugh was masking a tide of emotion that wanted to break over her skin. All that she’d seen, all that had implanted itself in her brain from Harry’s mindscape, was straining to get out. She made a flimsy excuse about needing to rest and Enola left her alone.

And as soon as she did, Hermione let the floodgates open from her fragile heart.

Hermione couldn’t believe she was so upset, in so much pain. She’d never _hurt_ like this before. It cut to the very centre of her and she cried out in astonishment at the depth of her agony. The visions smacked at the inside of her eyes, and she fought in vain to push them away. But they wouldn’t give.

How could Harry have endured so much? What sort of fucked up world would punish the boy she loved so very, very dearly, could have injured him in so many terrible ways? He was a man so full of good, who had done so much for others …. it was so many sorts of wrong in Hermione’s mind.

She howled at the injustice of it, raged and swore vengeance against all those who had wronged him in his life. She vowed, there and then, that she would hunt each and every one of them down, and visit such primal revenge on them that books would be written on the subject, to deter any future potential enemies of the Potter Family, to force them to think twice before raising their wands against them in malice.

And her love for Harry would become the most terrifying weapon she could imagine. Merlin pity those who had ranged themselves against him … against her lover, her soul, her very future. She would bring fiery devastation down upon them all.

She curled down into her bedsheets, heaved and wheezed as the shuddering whimpers of her tears drained her of the last of her energy, then let the dark promises she had made cast her into a deep and lasting sleep.


	35. A Study in Alchemy

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

It was late morning when Hermione woke. There were shadows flickering through the curtain and hushed, frantic voices drifted in from the corridor outside the Infirmary, which was where Hermione had gone as soon as she was up and dressed. She looked fondly down at Harry, his eye closed and half covered by his blue shawl, which Hermione thought was the one that suited him best, and snoring away like a beautiful warthog.

“So much for breakfast in bed, Harry,” Hermione quirked in a whisper. She tucked his blankets tighter around his shoulders, placed a chaste kiss to his head and decided to go and give a row to whoever these idiots were whose voices threatened to wake him up.

For the raised chattering was getting closer now. Hermione huffed at it and made her way out into the corridor, determined to head off the speakers before they could disturb sleeping Harry. Once she got there, however, she simply halted in her astonishment.

For Narcissa Malfoy was marching towards her, a determined look on her face, with Enola trotting behind her.

They met and, for a moment, simply sized each other up. A dozen different emotions passed between them, and Hermione felt for her wand on reflex. Narcissa saw the movement and narrowed her eyes.

“Really? Attacking the Chief of the Order you wish to be inducted into?” said Narcissa, smoothly. “Is that how our relationship begins?”

“You tell me,” Hermione replied, not breaking gaze once with this formidable woman.

“So, this is the witch who wishes to marry our king?” Narcissa drawled. She had a haughty demeanour, one used to privilege, and a voice that was sniffy and dismissive. She was every bit the Malfoy Hermione had expected of her, despite the validations she had heard in her favour. “Let me take a look at her then.”

Hermione cocked a cross, nonplussed eyebrow at her. Narcissa began casting her gaze up and down, assessing Hermione. She didn’t like it, had always hated being on display, under such scrutiny. She shifted awkwardly as Narcissa’s eyes passed over her frame.

“Your friend seems to be a genteel, prettyish sort of girl, Mrs Longbottom,” Narcissa commented to Enola, sounding for all the world as if Hermione wasn’t there and that she didn’t much care about her looks either way, as she moved around her in a circle. “She went to school with Lord Longbottom, I believe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Enola simpered. “And with Harry, too. And your son, of course.”

“Hmm,” Narcissa replied, critically, twisting her poker face into an inscrutable expression. “And you support her application to become an Acolyte, and later Lord Harry’s Consort?”

Enola nodded, sheepishly. Hermione smirked to herself. She’d never seen Ennie this shy or bashful. Narcissa seemed to terrify her.

“I see,” Narcissa went on, giving nothing away. She turned back to Hermione. “Enola tells me that Harry was … _inside you_.”

“He was,” Hermione confirmed, as Enola winked wickedly at her. “But now he’s back in his own body again.”

“Curious,” Narcissa frowned. Then she cast her gaze out of a nearby window as if scrutinising the grounds beyond. “There are some pretty little flower gardens off to one side of the lawn here, Miss Hermione. I would be happy to hear more about this as I take a turn in one of them … if you would favour me with your company.”

Enola shrugged in surprise as Hermione threw her a questioning look, but then Narcissa moved swiftly off and Hermione had to hurry to fall into stride alongside her. She cast several surreptitious glances at the older witch, wondering what this was about and curious to know if Narcissa knew anything about the pasting Hermione had given to her son during their most recent confrontation.

But Narcissa said nothing until she and Hermione were safely ensconced in one of the larger flower gardens, where they were quite alone. When Narcissa turned, her manner had changed dramatically … she seemed angry, Hermione might have gone as far as saying her look was one of loathing nastiness.

And when she spoke, her words were as sharp as her look.

“You can be in no doubt over the reason for my being here Mrs … Miss … what should I call you?” Narcissa began.

“Hermione will do just fine for now,” Hermione replied, huffing at the mention of her hated marital status. “But if you’d prefer to be more formal, I will only respond to _‘Miss Granger’._ If you call me by my foul, married name, I assure you that I’ll completely blank you, Chief Acolyte or not. And no, I have no idea why you are here.”

“Very well then, Miss Granger,” Narcissa replied, coolly. “And though you seem determined to be insincere and evasive you will not find me so. A report of a deeply disturbing nature reached me two days ago from my contacts at the International Confederation of Wizards. They told me that a young witch turned up there who was not only wearing Harry Potter’s family ring, but who was claiming to be his wedded _wife_.

“Now I knew this must be a scandalous falsehood. For if Harry had been married I would have been the first to know about it. Indeed, it would have been I who carried out the ceremony! So as soon as I knew you had returned from this unauthorised jaunt to mainland Europe, I immediately set off for this place to make my sentiments known to you.”

“Unauthorised jaunt?” Hermione scoffed, derisively. “Forgetting for a moment that I, alone, took action to try and save magical Britain, who died and made you chief of passport control?”

Narcissa tightened her jaw as a splash of colour hit her pale cheeks. She hadn’t expected Hermione to be quite so feisty, wasn’t used to witches talking back to her, that was clear. This wasn’t going to go the way she had planned.

“Crossing the magical boundary to Britain was a reckless act that you had no right to carry out,” Narcissa volleyed back.

“That’s a very long-winded way to say _thank you_ ,” Hermione quipped, silkily. “Thanks to me, you and long-haired Lucius can sit in your pit at Malfoy Manor and play host to Draco and his Death Eater boyfriends, maybe even invite Tom Riddle himself around for brunch, while you passively resist. But, I suppose Harry would prefer me to say _you’re welcome_!”

“Miss Granger, do you know who I am?” Narcissa asked, crossly. “I am on Harry’s side in this war, I have no love for King Voldemort or his Dark new order and I am not used to language such as this.”

“So I’ve heard, but I’ll believe that when I see it,” Hermione sniped back. “I reserve the right to distrust you until you earn respect from me. You are a Malfoy until proven otherwise in my eyes, and all the devious darkness entailed therein, and I don’t care what anyone says about it. So, out with it then … you promised to make these sentiments you carry something that might scare me off. Do your worst, Mrs Malfoy.”

“You really forget yourself, my girl,” Narcissa scythed back. “Do you really think that what you are doing is normal or standard? That you can simply make these choices on your own without reference to Harry, who he is, where he has come from or who he will be? Do you really think that you are that important?”

“Well clearly _you_ do or else you wouldn’t have come all this way,” Hermione snapped. “What do you propose by it?”

“To learn if this report is at all true and to have it at once explained or contradicted.”

“By coming this far to see me, your Ladyship will be seen as confirming this report if it exists at all,” said Hermione, simply.

“Miss Granger, this is not to be tolerated! Has Harry made you an offer of marriage?”

“You’ve declared it to be impossible.”

“It ought to be so. For not only are you already married, but you are married to a _Weasley_ , one of the principle families of the Dark Order! Harry shouldn’t be looking at you with anything but disdainful eyes. But your arts and allurements may have made him forget who he is and what he owes to himself. You may have drawn him in!”

“If I have, I would be the last person to admit it!” Hermione threw back, coolly.

“Miss Granger, I insist on being satisfied,” Narcissa cried. “I am Harry’s Head Acolyte, a position I succeeded to after his mother was killed, and I am entitled to know all of his nearest concerns.”

“But you are not entitled to know mine, nor will such behaviour as this induce me to be explicit.”

“You refuse to oblige me, then? Refuse the call of honour and duty? And this is the attitude we might expect from a young witch with the upstart pretension of trying to worm her way to becoming the future Mrs Potter? I should let you know that I am not in the habit of accepting disappointment.”

“That will make your situation today more pitiable but it will have no effect on _me_ ,” Hermione replied, stonily.

“I will not be interrupted!” Narcissa yelled. “You are, or have been, a _Weasley …_ do you not see that your alliance with Harry would be a disgrace?”

“Whatever my background, if Harry doesn’t object to it then it can mean nothing to you.”

“We would never even mention your name,” Narcissa continued in a low hiss.

“A minor misfortune, I’m sure I could get over it,” Hermione replied, waspishly.

“Tell me, once and for all, are you engaged to him?”

Hermione stepped close to Narcissa and, with a malicious smirk, held her engagement ring up to her face.

“Yes … I am.”

Narcissa looked like she’d swallowed a fire-crab while it was actually on fire.

“And when did this happen? Was it before you stole his ring to go to the Conference in Vaduz?”

“I stole nothing,” Hermione cried, angrily. “I merely took what was _ours_ , from our _family collection_ , and used it to cross the Wards to Europe. And yes, we were engaged ages before that.”

“And was it Harry who proposed?”

“Yes.”

“So … Harry has chosen you, then?” Narcissa mused, as much to herself as Hermione. “And, as much as I have my doubts about you, I learned long ago to trust Harry’s instincts, so I can only assume he knows what he is doing. How far as he introduced you to the more ancient and arcane forms of magic?”

“Only the basics of Runes and Ritual,” Hermione confessed ruefully. She wished she had something more advanced to offer. “Will I have need of such things to marry Harry?”

“No, you have to go beyond runes for this,” said Narcissa. “Go to something even more powerful.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “And what might that be?”

“You have to step ahead of runes,” Narcissa went on. “And immerse yourself in alchemy.”

“Alchemy?” Hermione queried. “How can that have anything to do with with marriage?”

“Because Harry is an alchemical adept, a _Red King_ ,” Narcissa explained in a smug air. “And only his complimentary, alchemical partner can be allowed to be his bride.”

Hermione blinked at that and, for the first time, started to feel a little worried. How was she supposed to know if she was this alchemical partner Harry was looking for? It seemed she would have to defer to Narcissa’s expertise on this, but admitting her dearth of knowledge to an arrogant Malfoy went against all of Hermione’s proud sensibilities.

“I don’t know enough about this to even guess if I am what I need to be,” Hermione confessed, modestly. “Will you … could you explain it to me … please?”

Narcissa’s expression softened slightly, but it was so slight that it was barely noticeable. “The study of alchemy is in one part physical and another more spiritual. Harry is questing to be a Master Alchemist, both in the earthly manner and the more important, spiritual Work. How much do you know about the alchemical process?”

“I know the basics, turning base metals to gold and creating the Philosopher’s Stone,” said Hermione. “And then there’s the creation of all types of Elixirs in that … oh, is that how Harry keeps healing all these vicious wounds he gets? Alchemical Elixirs?”

“You cotton on very fast, don’t you?” said Narcissa, nodding approvingly, if a little begrudgingly. “Harry is very good at creating elixirs. He hasn’t quite made it to the Elixir of Life yet, but he’s proficient at producing some of the others for more earthly healing. Alchemy is a very difficult art … few wizards even get close to unlocking its secrets.”

“Nicolas Flamel did,” said Hermione. “And Dumbledore did a lot of work with him. I met his daughter, Amelie, and she told me a little bit about that.”

“Yes, but did Amelie tell you why her father succeeded where Dumbledore fell short?” asked Narcissa, shrewdly. “And what Harry must do if he hopes to also be able to achieve this ridiculously difficult feat?”

“No, she didn’t go into much detail.”

“Would you like to hazard a guess on your own?”

Hermione thought hard. Flamel was a brilliant wizard, Dumbledore too. But she didn’t know enough about either to answer confidently. And she couldn’t fathom for the life of her how Harry was at all similar to them. So she simply shook her head.

“Flamel had a partner, an equal to complete the processes of the Work,” Narcissa explained. “Alchemy is fundamentally about the joining of complimentary things, it is a process of _union_. Perenelle Flamel was Nicolas’ perfect partner … they were alchemical soulmates. Dumbledore never had a partner to work with in the process. And Harry …”

“Needs a perfect partner, too,” Hermione breathed. Her heart was pounding hard again, speeding her blood all through her. “But why cant that be me?”

“Do you believe that it could be you? Truly … with all of your heart and mind?” Narcissa asked with a genuine gentility that caught Hermione a little off-guard. “Harry clearly does, because he’s chosen you enough to make you an engagement ring from alchemical quicksilver. But do you believe it? If you have even the slightest doubt, then you cannot be and this conversation ends now.”

Hermione swallowed all her niggling misgivings for the final time and drew in a shaky breath as she considered everything.

“I … I _am_ Harry’s perfect other!” she hushed in breathless astonishment. “We are two halves of one whole … my mind, his heart …”

“To make one soul,” Narcissa finished quietly, looking at Hermione in near-wonder. “You’ve met with Lily Potter …”

Hermione met the older woman’s gaze resolutely. New understanding and respect flared between them. Hermione could only nod in muted silence.

“And did Lily … did Harry’s mother … approve of you?” asked Narcissa, cautious and quiet

“Yes, she gave me her blessing, on behalf on her and James,” whispered back, shyly.

“Then you have already been ordained by a higher authority than me … decreed as Harry’s _White Queen_ … by his own alchemical mentors, themselves.”

Narcissa’s voice was bordering on the reverent now. It was an incredible turnaround in her attitude towards Hermione.

“His White Queen … what does that mean?” Hermione asked, hurriedly.

“The alchemical process is primarily about joining the Red King … the hot, dry principle … with the White Queen, the cool, moist compliment,” Narcissa explained, her excitement evident. “Harry is certainly a Red King, governed by his sulphuric passions … he is the heart aspect of the union, and marked by the Sun.”

“How is Harry marked by the Sun?” asked Hermione, confused. “He doesn’t have much of a tan.”

Narcissa looked at Hermione with a sort of semi-amused pity, the way one looks at a wayward child. Then she took out her wand and slashed it through the air three times in a complex little pattern.

“You may recognise the Sowilo rune,” Narcissa continued. “Also knows as _The Rune of the Sun_. Have you seen this shape before?”

The rune was shaped like a bolt of lightening and Hermione’s eyes went wide as she watched it flash in reds and golds and purples before her.

“Harry’s scar,” Hermione breathed. “His _other_ one, I mean. It’s the exact same shape!”

“Marked by the Sun, in the form of this rune,” Narcissa smirked, cockily. “Now you, Miss Granger … if you are to be Harry’s alchemical soulmate, his complimentary other, then you must be touched by similar symbolic markers. I have heard many times that you are cool, logical, supremely intelligent … clearly the Mind to Harry’s Heart.

“But the alchemical link is something I have never thought to explore for you before. Harry is Philosophical Sulphur in the Work … so, to be his White Queen, you must be marked as _Philosophical Mercury_ , the partner substance to Sulphur. What is your astrological sign?”

“I’m a Virgo,” Hermione told her. “Born on September the nineteenth, if that matters.”

Narcissa clapped her hands in elation. “Virgo … ruled by the planet Mercury. And your name … _Hermione_ … female form of Hermes, I’m guessing. Which means Mercury. Actually … _Hermione Granger_ … what is the chemical shorthand for Mercury?”

“Hg. I used to have a Periodical Table poster on my bedroom wall,” said Hermione, without realising the significance at first. Her eyes popped open in wonder as comprehension slammed into her. “Oohh … my initials! _H and G_! How incredible is _this_ getting?”

Narcissa smiled so warmly at Hermione then that she forgot all of their earlier animosity at a stroke.

“Harry has been looking for you his whole life, whether he knew it consciously or not,” Narcissa muttered quietly. “Lily always knew what her son needed to find in a partner. She _knew_ he was a Red King from the earliest days of his life. The Sowilo marker is just one of the indicators… he is also a Leo, ruled by the Sun … Leo is a lion, which is a proxy symbol for the Sun in alchemy …”

“Harry’s Animagus form is a lion!” Hermione shrieked excitedly. “And he was in Gryffindor. A golden lion was the symbol of our house!”

“And the colours of red and gold are important,” Narcissa added. “Harry, a _Red_ King, the very _heir_ of Gryffindor, seeking to become spiritually _gold_ … to turn from a base man into a golden, enlightened being. You know, Alchemical Adepts are often known as _seekers._ Harry is a very talented Quidditch player, in a very interesting position, is he not? Spending all his game life in pursuit of something _golden_. Coincidence? I think we can agree not.”

Hermione had no idea what to say to this torrent of information. She shook her head in wonder. “But what about me? Where could I fit in?”

Narcissa considered her a moment. “The Mercury principle seeks, above all else in it’s existence, to join with the Sulphur principle. Tell me, how did you and Harry meet?”

Hermione thought back. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but she smiled fondly at the memory as it reached the surface of her mind. “On the train to Hogwarts in our first year. Neville Longbottom had lost his toad. I was trying to help him find it. We checked in Harry’s compartment … and that’s how we met.”

“Is that a lie?” asked Narcissa, incredulously.

“Why would I lie about that?” asked Hermione, affronted.

“Forgive me, Miss Granger,” said Narcissa, softly. “It’s just that … well, the toad is a symbolic representation of the base matter for the alchemical Work. Some treaties are even written from the _perspective_ of a toad, so to find one as part of your story is truly extraordinary.

“For if we assume for a moment that you _are_ Alchemical Mercury, you would have been searching for that base matter to join with, to achieve your fundamental life desire … and you found it in Harry _,_ via a toad. You may have been searching for an _actual_ creature but, in reality, though you couldn’t possibly have known it, you were actually looking for _Harry_. And the alchemical forces led you right to him, made sure it happened … ensured that the White Queen would meet her Red King.”

Hermione felt her world stop spinning a moment. It gave her dizzying mind a chance to catch up. Narcissa was looking at her in such a way that she wildly expected her to bow down and offer her a prayer. Her words rang and swam and hit home with such truth that Hermione was shaken to her very foundations.

It was like she’d known this truth for her entire life, that it had been sitting there just beneath her surface, waiting to be considered and understood. The revelation now was simply the most wonderfully incredible set of words that Hermione ever heard in all her days. She thought she might explode with the euphoria surging through her in violent waves.

“Harry’s Patronus is a stag, I believe,” Narcissa went on, hinting that there was more still. “A homage not only to his father’s spirit, but also as a representation of his part in the alchemical principle. In alchemy, the stag has, as its mate, the unicorn.”

Hermione’s face dropped a moment. “But my Patronus isn’t a unicorn. It’s an otter.”

“Merely a symbol of your own self-doubt,” Narcissa replied, dismissively. “An animal safe and unassuming. But you have been blessed by Lily Potter now … and can you guess what _her_ Patronus was? In any case, you are an intelligent witch … you should be aware that a Patronus can change, or even be _chosen_. But even with a Patronus as an otter … that is not too far away from a certain surname I know you covet. It was another pointer for you, to the direction you needed to go.”

“Oh …” said Hermione, blinking in surprise as understanding dawned again. It was a nice thought, but still … it wasn’t good enough for her. She had to know … so she drew her wand. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

Hermione crumpled to the floor, overcome by emotion, as soon as the horn materialised from the end of her wand. She was so overwhelmed by a wave of such sheer joy that her knees buckled beneath her. The silvery unicorn gambolled around her a while, before nuzzling gently at her bushy crown. She reached up to pet it a moment, before it dissipated away. She was sorely tempted to re-cast the spell.

“Well, that clears that up,” said Narcissa, cheerfully. “Congratulations, Miss Granger, you are officially the luckiest witch on the planet!”

Hermione grinned back at her. “I already knew _that_. I’m going to marry Harry Potter for Merlin’s sake! What more do I need?”

Narcissa turned to her with a serious look. “You need to make it official. You need to join your life energies, your very _soul,_ with Harry’s.”

“But I don’t know how I can do that,” Hermione cried, bitterly. “I’m still married to that fucking Weasley, aren’t I?”

“A Marriage Bond it a standard rite, one broken too often to bear much thinking about,” Narcissa scoffed. “We’re talking about the union of two _souls_ here. It goes so much deeper, far beyond any of that.”

“Then we can do it? We can break my Bond without Ron agreeing?” asked Hermione, hopefully. “Please tell me that we can.”

“We can,” Narcissa confirmed. Hermione’s heart took flight and she actually whooped in triumph. “By preparing you for an _Alchemical Wedding_ we can join you and Harry on a highly spiritual level, something indescribably beyond a standard wedding rite. We would be unifying both the alchemical principles that you and Harry represent. And when we do, it will cause a fundamental change in you both. You ought to be aware of that before we proceed.”

“How so?” asked Hermione, cautiously.

“Alchemists who stick only to the earthly practices merely chase the transformation of base metals into gold, of the creation of the Elixir of Life, and of the making of a Philosopher’s Stone,” Narcissa explained. “But Harry’s is a more spiritual path … and his full union with you will represent the completion of his Opus Alchymicum. He would, in a metaphysical sense, _become_ a Philosopher’s Stone. Or, more precisely, you both would … _together_.

“And the power that you could wield like that … well, it could very likely change the world. It might not be the easiest of burdens to carry, for either of you.”

“Harry and I will carry it together,” said Hermione, confidently. “I speak on behalf of my … _Red King …_ I speak for us both. This is something we both dearly want … and I feel totally ready now. So, where do we go from here?”

“We have to convince Harry to show us his alchemical space,” said Narcissa. “It is probably hidden somewhere within the Palace, and I doubt he would have told anyone that it even exists, such is the secretive nature of alchemy. But that is the only place that such a ritual could be performed.”

Hermione smiled. “Perhaps Harry has hidden it, but I have a little friend who can see through even Harry’s cleverest ruses.”

“You’re talking about the girl … the Seer … my _granddaughter_.”

Hermione blinked in shock. She hadn’t thought, stupidly hadn’t made the connection from Draco to Narcissa. She took a breath. “Yes. Her name is Celesca. I’m sure she can find this secret Cell of Harry’s if he wont tell us where it is.”

“Then take me to her.”

“Not before I speak to her mother,” Hermione insisted. “If Luna is happy for you to see her, then I’ll allow it. If not, I’ll ask her by myself.”

“That girl is my granddaughter,” Narcissa reminded Hermione in a stern tone. “She represents the future of the Malfoy line. This current state of being in the world is only temporary. The Ancient and Noble Houses will be restored … and this girl will stand to inherit my title of Lady Malfoy when they are.”

“That may all be true,” said Hermione, firmly. “But she is also the product of your son _raping_ Luna Lovegood. I can’t, and I wont, ignore that. Luna is a good friend of mine. Besides, this is _my_ house … or it very soon will be … and what I say here, goes.”

Narcissa looked shrewdly at Hermione. “Very well, my Lady. I make a formal request to see my granddaughter. Will you please petition her mother on my behalf?”

“I shall,” Hermione agreed with a curt little nod. “But if she refuses, I will honour her wishes. In the meantime, what else can I do to prepare for this ritual?”

“You can formally ask Harry to take you to his Senior Knights,” Narcissa smiled. “After all, you will be seeking their ratification of my personal nomination, for you to be bound with him … as his eternal wife.”


	36. Promises Made and Broken

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion and scenes of a sexual nature, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry poured out two steaming mugs of tea, handed one to his guest and sat opposite her, crossing one knee over the other and squinting at her critically. Narcissa stirred one sugar lump three times around her cup, as was her habit, and met Harry’s quizzical gaze as it focused with the force of two eyes, even though he only had one.

“So … what do you think of her?”

Narcissa curled her lips into a wry smile. “I like her. She’s plucky, got lots of spirit. I can see why you are so taken with her.”

“So, I have your blessing?”

“Do you need my blessing?”

“Of course not,” Harry grinned. “But I should like to know I have it all the same.”

“Then go to it,” Narcissa smiled. “She will do very nicely, make you a proper Queen. I think you will be very happy together.”

“Thank you, I completely agree,” Harry nodded, tilting his mug in a gesture of salute. “But why did you give her such a hard time when you arrived?”

Narcissa chuckled lowly. “I had to give her some sort of test, didn’t I? Marrying Harry Potter has to come with some challenges.”

“I think we’ve been through enough challenges to get together to justify thirty marriages!” Harry tittered. “From the Weasleys, to my little sabbatical, to being just that dense towards our own feelings … our road has been anything but straightforward.”

“Which romance worthy of the name isn’t?” Narcissa quipped. “So, you’ll present her to the Princes?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve sent messages for them to be available tomorrow. I’ll take Hermione down to Cardiff and have the Princes rubber-stamp our betrothal. Then you can do your little Acolyte ritual and we’ll see about snapping her Marriage Bond.”

“How long have you known?” Narcissa chanced, cautiously. “About her _role_ , I mean?”

“I know what you mean,” Harry replied, evasively. “I’ve suspected it long enough, but Mum and Dad never said a thing … and they must have known. The _row_ I’m going to give my father about this … but I’ll say no more. I want it to be a surprise when he gets it, and you know Merlin is probably listening and will tell him in advance. He’s such a stirrer.”

“Indeed he is!” Narcissa chortled. Then she fixed Harry with a shrewd stare. “I could hardly believe who Hermione was, myself, at first. I mean, she doesn’t have the hair for a start. I expected her to be blonde.”

“My White Queen will be marked however Queen Luna chooses to do it,” Harry reminded his alchemical mentor. “The obvious ones are sometimes just that … too obvious. That’s how I knew my Queen wasn’t the _other_ Luna … bit too vain to give your incumbent on Earth the same name as you, I thought!”

“But Miss Lovegood does tick many of the boxes, even you have to admit that.”

“True, but she lacks one key thing,” Harry replied. “I had to be in love with her … and I’m not. All the other markers just mean she’s a White Queen to someone else, though after all she’s been through it wouldn’t surprise me if she chooses a partnerless life … I certainly wouldn’t blame her for that.”

“You know her better than I do, Harry … do you think she will let me see my granddaughter?” Narcissa asked, slowly.

Harry sighed deeply. “Yes, I think she will. But be mindful of your boundaries, for the moment you overstep them Luna will snap Celesca back from you … and I’ll do nothing to intervene. Remember what has happened to her, what she’s been through … and, most of all, remember the man responsible for it. She has every right to hate the Malfoy name, and everyone who bears it. You have to allow her that.”

Narcissa nodded sadly. “You know that I think of Draco as dead already. The moment he let that bastard Riddle rip his soul apart … the boy who was my son ceased to be. I will be as respectful as I am able, just for the chance to know my little grandchild.”

“You should be aware, I think my Hermione intends to kill Draco … properly, I mean,” Harry told her, lowly.

“I am aware of it, and I actually place some hope for my son in that outcome,” Narcissa replied. “For if my son is killed by an alchemical White Queen, there may be hope for his immortal soul in the afterlife. It’s functionally equivalent to being cut down by an angelic goddess, you do know that?”

Harry grinned widely. “Of course I do. Why do you think I’m so excited to marry her? But you assessed her … are you sure she’s ready?”

“Utterly and completely,” Narcissa confirmed. “She has conquered her own demons by deciding that the love you share will be her weapon against them. She doesn’t _fear_ your love anymore, Harry.That’s where she needed to get to, the rest you will face together.”

“Then I suppose the only thing left to do is to get the formalities out of the way,” Harry sighed, happily. “I’ll head to Cardiff in the morning, you set up the ritual here. You can use the standing stone circle in the West of the grounds, that will do. Unless you’re planning to play your little initiation joke on my future wife?”

“Of course I am, it’s tradition!” Narcissa laughed. “I am sure Hermione will see the funny side.”

“You tell yourself that, if it gives you comfort,” Harry smirked.

“And what about the wedding?” Narcissa asked. “For a full alchemical ceremony we will need use of your Cell.”

“I know,” Harry grinned. “Hermione is going to try and find it with the help of little Cesc Lovegood, and I’m going to let her. I have a little surprise waiting for her in my bedroom … just a little, er, teaser of what’s to come on our wedding night. I think she’ll approve … so long as she can handle the heat!” 

* * *

Luna rocked baby Alison in her arms and cooed gently to her. Neville and Enola's daughter gurgled and burped happily in response. Luna's own daughter giggled and smiled at the baby, smoothing her downy-haired head with a delicate hand. She looked up at Hermione, watching the scene nearby. It was stirring all kinds of intense broodiness in the older witch. Hermione hoped very much that Harry would end the war pretty soon.

Because, after that, he was _so_ going to put a baby in _her_.

He didn't know it yet, and Hermione idly wondered what he would think about it when she told him. She fancied that he'd like the idea. He'd always wanted a family, she knew this intimately well. The first time he'd gone from being _cute_ to _attractive_ in Hermione's eyes was that night he told her about Sirius' plans to essentially adopt him. His face had glowed with such fierce joy and emotion … Hermione had wanted to kiss him right there, to bask in that wondrous happiness he was experiencing. She felt sure he would have shared it with her.

After all, she was the only one Harry had ever told of his most fundamental desire in life.

Then it was all snatched away from him so cruelly. Hermione couldn't stand to think about that. She was still deeply affected by the horrors she'd seen in Harry's mind. She realised, with a jolt of shock, that his memory of that night with Sirius must have been hidden in there somewhere, too. She hated to think what else she might have found if she'd stayed longer. She didn't like to consider the implications, but she had to think that she'd only scratched the surface of the darkness Harry boxed away inside

The little Hermione had seen was disturbing enough. She was having such terrible dreams, revisiting some of the worst visions she'd witnessed. She tended to snap awake in a fitful, sweaty state and had to summon Harry to her beside in the middle of the night, to hug his sleep-mussed form tight to her shivering body and pepper his head with little kisses, as though hoping to somehow soothe her own anxiety through physical contact.

It was only through her own respect for Harry's boundaries that she didn't force him to slip right into bed alongside her, where she could spend the rest of the night holding on to him tenderly close, as he cooed softly to calm her while trying to restrain his own carnal desires at the same time. 

It felt odd, to think that she had been carrying Harry around inside her. She supposed this was why she was feeling so broody. The idea of carrying another life in her body wasn't a notion she'd ever positively considered during the horror years of her marriage to Ron. And before that she had been reasonably convinced that she might never get married or have children. In her own mind, she was no-one's idea of attractive. And she had always been a fairly solitary creature. The fact that she'd let even Harry and Ron so close had been something of a wonder in the Granger family.

A family that Hermione was now the sole surviving member of. This only added to her burgeoning desire to get on with the process of producing an heir for the family line.

But there would be no family without her claiming her patriarch, so here she was, delivering Narcissa Malfoy's petition to Luna and Celesca.

"I don't know, Hermione," said Luna. "I'm not sure I like the idea."

"I've told Narcissa that I'll respect whatever decision you make, Lu," said Hermione. "So there's no pressure. If you don't want Cesc to meet her grandmother, then that's just tough luck on Lady Malfoy. She can take up her complaints with literally anyone else who'll listen, for all I care … such as the nearest brick wall."

Luna smirked. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"That said, I can't imagine she'll give up easily," Hermione sighed, grumpily. "I have the feeling that she will be quite persistent. She seems the formidable sort."

"I know she isn't Draco," said Luna. "And that she's trying to help Harry and everything. But she was _there,_ Hermione … right there on the night when Celesca was conceived. She was in the _room_. She might be on our side now … but she let that happen to me _then_. That's all I can think about."

Hermione's anger flared. Her skin prickled with it. "Luna … I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't," said Luna brightly. "You weren't there, how could you know?"

"That's decided then, she isn't seeing Celesca," said Hermione firmly. "Not if I have any say in it. She doesn't deserve to be in the same house as her. As soon as I have what I want from Narcissa, I'll banish her."

"Harry won't let you do that," said Luna. "She's too important."

"My future husband will do as he's told," Hermione grinned.

"It's not just that," Luna went on. She blushed with humiliation. "She makes a good point about Celesca's heritage. I … well, I don't have much. There's not a lot I can give to her besides my love and care. She'll need somewhere to live, something to live off. I have to think of my daughter's future."

Hermione's heart ached and throbbed with such pity that she hurried to Luna and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"You will always have a home with us, both of you, I hope you know that," said Hermione firmly. "Don't ever think you'll have nowhere to go. Your place is with us now."

Luna looked back up with humble hope. "Really? Do you truly mean that?"

"Of course I do!" Hermione cried vehemently.

Luna handed baby Alison to Celesca, who began to sing to the sleeping infant. Then Luna turned and enveloped Hermione in such a hug … Hermione gasped in surprise at it. She'd never felt such wholesome affection directed at her before. She felt bashful about accepting it.

"Thank you, Hermione, thank you," said Luna softly. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"You're more than welcome," Hermione replied, smiling into Luna's hair. She felt silly for not noticing how short Luna was before. She had a full head of height on her.

"Do you think Harry will mind that?" asked Luna, breaking away slowly.

Hermione grinned, playfully. "Like I said, I'm pretty confident I can coax Harry to a point where he'll do whatever I tell him to."

"Hermione, you're terrible," Luna giggled.

"Maybe, but it's fine," said Hermione, off-handedly. "Because I'll _already_ do whatever he tells _me_ , so we'll be even."

"So, do you think this ritual will work, to allow you to marry him?"

"Narcissa seemed pretty confident," said Hermione. "We just need to find Harry's Alchemist's Cell. There will be sort of formal betrothal when I am inducted as an Acolyte, and the power from that should be enough to allow me to break my Marriage Bond to Ron. Then we can have this _alchemical wedding_ thing … and I should be able to finally call Harry my husband."

"So it really is going to be like an _actual_ wedding?" asked Luna. "Are you going to change your name and things?"

Hermione hadn't thought of that. So she did now. And she grinned wildly to herself.

"Yes, I'm going to do that," said Hermione. "Narcissa says it's a deeper bonded wedding than a standard Marriage Bond so, as Harry has taken the Weasley link from me, I'm going to consider my marriage to Ron over, hopefully break the magical Bond he forced on me, and officially become Harry's wife. Wow. I'm suddenly _ridiculously_ excited! Thank you, Lu! You're a genius."

And she kissed the top of Luna's head. She wasn't kidding about her excitement. She was so overcome with all sorts of flutterings that she became comically restless, and had to pace the room three times to calm herself. A bit. Then it just started up again she felt like jumping off the roof with the euphoria.

She was fairly certain her elation would cushion the fall.

"I'm so happy for you," Luna beamed. "You just have to find this Cell, then. Any ideas where it might be?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping Celesca might have a look for me," said Hermione, carefully. "Harry's hidden it, you see."

"It's in his bedroom, behind the big bookcase," said Celesca simply, without looking up from baby Alison.

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise. She exchanged startled looks with Luna.

"How do you know that, sweetheart?" asked Luna.

"I've been there," said Celesca dreamily, flicking her eyes to her mother. "I've been all over the house in my mind. There's a funny ghost in the cellar. He was a pirate when he was alive. I like his hat. Do you think I can get one?"

"If you can show me how to get into Harry's Alchemy Cell I'll buy you a whole costume and a lifetime's supply of rum!" Hermione laughed.

"I like that deal," Celesca grinned. Then she frowned. "What's rum?"

"Something only big girls can have," said Luna, exchanging a knowing smile with Hermione. They had previous with this one.

"Oh. Well, as long as I can get the hat," Celesca chirruped happily. "Shall I show you now?"

"Lead on," said Hermione excitedly.

"I have to put the baby down first," Celesca pointed out reasonably. "She wants to come, but she needs to learn to walk before she explores the house. I told her that."

And Hermione was back to being stunned again.

"You … you can _talk_ to the baby?" she breathed.

"Oh yes, " said Celesca breezily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not like you and me talk though. She just makes funny noises. But I know what she means, and she understands words. So I sort of put my meaning in her mind, and she knows, and talks back like that. She likes Mister Harry a lot. He's her favourite. He's my favourite, too."

"He's a lot of people's favourite," said Luna, grinning madly at Hermione, who blushed all over.

"But I like you a lot too, Miss Hermione," Celesca babbled on. "Baby Ally doesn't know you too well. She thinks you're frightened of her. Are you, Miss Hermione? You shouldn't be, you know. She's only a baby."

"I haven't been around babies much," Hermione replied. "I … I suppose I'm afraid I'll do something wrong and break her."

Hermione shied away, embarrassed at voicing this niggling concern she was fighting with from the back of her mind.

Celesca giggled crazily. "You wont _break_ her! And she wont hurt you. I can show you if you like. How to hold her and feed her and things. I'm sure she wont mind. I'll ask her next time."

"Okay." Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the conversation.

By this time they were mounting the main staircase of the house, questing for the seventh and uppermost floor. Hermione had never been up here, as the entire floor was Harry's personal suite and chambers. It seemed a bit delinquent to be coming up here without his permission. But Celesca, who was leading the way, seemed to have no mind for such propriety as she bounced along ahead of them.

Hermione swooned at the rooms up here. They were, in a word, beautiful. And elegant. There were reception rooms, and a study, and a cute little breakfast room that was bathed in gorgeous sunlight. There was a large bathroom and entire rooms just for Harry's clothes. Hermione noted, with a pang of heartache, that he had a vast set of shelves just for his different scarves and shawls. They were divided between those that had been spelled with antiseptic and pain-relief enchantments and those still awaiting the treatment. Hermione looked sadly at them and resolved to redouble her efforts to find a way to heal his ruined face.

She simply would not stand for him to be in any sort of pain any longer.

"Come along, Miss," Celesca called, stirring Hermione from her impending bout of misery. "Mister Harry's secret room is just in here."

Hermione took a breath and moved through to Harry's bedroom. Her heart skipped as she considered that, very soon, it would be her bedroom, too. Or, to give it its proper name, _t_ _heir_ bedroom. She halted on the threshold and took a first look around the place where, hopefully in a few short days, she and Harry were going to create a very _different_ kind of magic to anything they'd approached so far. She took a step inside.

And promptly collapsed. For the potency of the sex magic Harry had _already_ imbued within the place for her was simply devastating.

"Miss Hermione!" Celesca yelped, hurrying over to her. "Are you okay? Did you trip over your own feet or something?"

"Hermione?" asked Luna, looking at her swarthily with twinkling eyes. "Are you alright?"

Hermione literally _rolled_ out of the room ... it was all she could do, as she was pretty sure her knees didn't know how to work anymore. She was breathing heavily and clenching her thighs tight together, fitfully embarrassed as Celesca looked over her in concern. _What the complete_ _fuck_ _was_ _that!?_ Hermione thought breathlessly. Blood throbbed violently below her waist, and she had to bite hard on her lip to stop herself panting lustily. Surges of unbridled pleasure were _still_ washing through her, flooding her even. _Flood_ was quite an apt word, she thought naughtily, as she realised that she would have to change her knickers before facing the world again today.

_Merlin, Harry! What exactly have you been planning for me!_

One thing was for certain, she couldn't _wait_ to find out. But, for now, she had to compose herself. Poor Celesca … she looked frightfully concerned, not to mention confused. She was crouching over her, trying to help.

"Are you okay, Miss Hermione? Can I do anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine," Hermione struggled out. "I just lost my balance, that's all. I'm okay."

"It must be that strong magic in there," Celesca suggested, sagely. "It's so _weird_ , isn't it? I don't know what sort of magic that is, do you? But it's very tickly, whatever it is."

Hermione and Luna locked eyes and fought back insane giggles of their own.

Luna came over and helped Hermione back to her feet. "Neville's wife told me you were the luckiest witch on the planet," she whispered into her ear. "I have to say I think I agree with her now!"

"Lu … I don't think I can go back through there," Hermione laughed, clutching onto Luna as she fell about giggling. Her knees were still shaking. "I'm serious … can you find a way to open the door to Harry's Cell and I'll just Apparate in?"

Luna fought back a laugh. "I'll try. But it's not easy for me, either. The magic in there is clearly designed for _you,_ but its effects … _phew_! It's just so _dense._ Harry has _got_ to build a room like this for the rest of us girls, somewhere else in the palace. Do you think you can persuade him?"

"It'll be my wedding gift to all of you," Hermione promised with a wide grin. "Just as long as you can get the alchemy room open."

Luna turned and re-entered the room. Hermione bit back another giggle as Luna's footsteps faltered and she swayed abruptly as she crossed the floor. But she was a trooper and ploughed on through the magical caresses. She made it to the bookcase, which was just as well as it provided something sturdy for her to hold onto. She was all sorts of flustered.

"Are you okay, Mummy?" asked Celesca, curiously. "You've gone very red and sweaty."

"I ... I'm fine, sweetie," Luna gasped throatily, her voice at least an octave higher than usual. "Now, how do we get in?"

Celesca eyed her mother with a slight frown. "On the second shelf down, pull out the third book from the right. Then the door opens."

Luna followed the instruction and, sure enough, the bookcase swung back to reveal the hidden chamber. Luna bundled Celesca inside and hurried in after her. Hermione wasted no time in joining them. She Apparated right to Luna, who was leant over a wash basin splashing cold water on her face. Celesca was still frowning at her.

"What's _wrong_ with you two?" she asked, crossly. "You're being very _weird_."

"It's nothing, honey, honest," said Hermione, evasively. "Now, let's have a look around in here, shall we?"

It was an odd sensation, to be standing in the place where she was going to get married, and Hermione simply basked in it for a moment. The silly grin she wore made her the most girlish she'd probably ever looked in her whole life. She stepped around the room to have a look at the place ... there was a large fire pit, a couple of golden perches, that Hermione guessed were for Harry's phoenix, and a huge copper bathtub, which was so deep it looked better suited for ceremonial purposes than standard hygiene. She gasped as she realised it probably _was …_ and the next ceremony it would be used for would be …

"Hermione," Luna breathed quietly. "Look at _this!_ "

Hermione stilled her whirring mind and crossed back to Luna. The basin she'd been washing in was part of a beautifully ornate dresser, oak and glass and trimmed with gold. It had clearly been magically modified; the central compartment held a workshop's worth of spindly equipment, and the top drawer was teeming with potion vials. But this wasn't what had caught Luna's eye. She directed Hermione's attention to a spot just to the right of the enamel basin.

And Hermione's breath caught in her lungs.

For there, sat in a pretty, purple velvet box, was the most beautiful gold and diamond ring she'd ever seen. And when Luna offered it to her, she noticed a tiny little detail that brought joyous tears to her eyes. For either side of the stunning stone, set into the band in delicate silver, were two letters.

"H … and P …" said Luna, her voice awestruck and quiet. "Your initials … your _new_ initials! The same as Harry's now. Hermione … Harry's made you your _wedding ring!"_

Hermione clasped one hand to her mouth, holding the ring in trembling fingers with the other. She turned the brilliant band slowly, watching the way the light caught it at different angles. It was the single most beautiful piece of jewellery Hermione had ever seen. She looked down at her hand, and the finger it would soon be on.

And she scowled angrily. That piece of cheap, ugly ... probably fake ... gold that Ron had forced on her was sitting in its place. Bland and dirty, biting into her skin just below the knuckle, Hermione hated it with every nuance of her being. She glared at it, cursed and railed at it. She turned her hand and thought all things negative at once ... about the ring, about the one who had jammed it on her finger so hard it had torn her flesh, and about all the abuses it had allowed him to visit upon her under the guise of warped law. Hermione felt her fury building and building, it was like a gathering storm inside. She didn't want to let it out, in case it scared little Celesca, but she could feel the potency of it in the way the air around her was rapidly heating up. She wasn't sure she could rein it in much longer. And then …

... the hated ring simply cracked in half on her finger.

Hermione watched the two pieces fall from her hand like it was an out-of-body experience. They hit the floor with a light tinkle ... and she felt something lifting from the rest of her, too. It was like casting off a heavy load that she'd become so used to carrying she didn't realise it was still there, until she'd been relieved of it. And the joy of release from the burden was almost too much to absorb. It moved swiftly into new parts of Hermione's heart and mind, filling her up as though she'd just cut a new channel right into her very soul. She had to sit down before she fell down.

"Miss Hermione! You did it! You did it!" Celesca was singing happily. She started doing a crazed sort of jig, then snatched her arms around Hermione's waist.

"What did I do?" asked Hermione. She knew she'd done _something_ , but she needed this young Seer to define it for her.

"You broke the barrier! You opened up!" Celesca chimed. "I can see right into you now. All the way in! And it's so _pretty_ in there, Miss! Oh … and … and oh …"

"What is it?" Hermione asked quickly. Celesca seemed fit to burst.

"Your cord ... the one to the gingerbread man ... it's _gone_!" Celesca whispered in her disbelief. "You broke it and it's going away from you now."

Hermione sucked in a startled breath. "My Marriage Bond ... I ... I've broken it? But how? I thought I had to do all these other things first?"

"They were just the words, my love, the formalities. The power was always in you ... it just needed to become intense enough. And now it has."

"Harry! How long have you been standing there!?" Hermione cried, turning as Harry's voice sounded from the doorway.

"I knew the moment the Cell opened," Harry grinned. "I wanted you to find it ... and to find the present I left for you."

"Which one?" Hermione smirked, her eyes glinting vividly. "That bedroom seems like a wish come true, if you ask me."

Harry chuckled at that. "Such a dirty girl. But you wait till it's finished."

"You mean .. it isn't?" Hermione swooned dreamily.

"Not quite, but it soon will be," Harry promised.

"You still have to draw your Figure of Eight, don't you, Mister Harry?" Celesca asked.

"Figure of Eight?" Hermione queried.

"That's how little Cesc sees the image of our wedding in my mind," Harry explained, smiling fondly at the little Seer, embarrassing her again. "Our two interlocking rings, the shape our Marriage Bond will form when we set it. My heart to your heart, your thoughts to my thoughts. Then we will be utterly complete."

"Then let us do it now, right now," Hermione urged. 

"No, Miss, it doesn't work like that," said Celesca. "No, for that you need Nanny Cissa. She'll know what to do."

Hermione shot her eyes up in startled shock. Luna wrung her hands anxiously and knelt down next to her daughter.

"Cesc, sweetie, how do you know about _her_?" asked Luna.

Celesca looked innocently at her mother. "Don't be cross, Mummy, but I've always known."

"How?"

"You'll tell me off."

"I really wont, sweetie," said Luna, smoothing Celesca's tiny hand. She was quivering in nervous fright. "Just tell me how you know about Narcissa."

Celesca wrung her hands. Hermione swooned at the habit clearly copied from Luna.

"I knew from when I knew about my special magic," Celesca began fretfully. "When I knew I was different, even from others with magic, I wanted to know what it was. I was only two when I found out that I could follow the energy lines around me. So I followed the strongest ones I could. I went to my 'Mummy' line first … that's how I knew it was you and not Auntie Venusia. It was the strongest and nicest line.

"But there was another one. Just as strong, but really horrible. I didn't want to go down it, but I had to. I knew it was from my Daddy, but it was dark and slimy and nasty. I didn't like it one bit. I never went down it again."

"But Narcissa?"

"I could feel her nearby, the day I went down my Daddy's line," Celesca explained. "And her line was quite nice, too. So I went along it and found her. She was waiting for me. She knew I was there and told me everything. She said I could come back whenever I wanted and she'd show me how to use my special magic properly."

Hermione gasped. "Narcissa is a Seer? I never knew."

"No, no, Miss Hermione," said Celesca, quickly. "She isn't like me. But she is good with mind magic, a bit like Miss Enola. Nanny Ciss teaches her all about it, too. I think it's because of the job she does for Mister Harry."

"Enola Apprentices with Narcissa Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed. "Well, that explains why she's so afraid of her. She is a bit like a fierce old school ma'am."

"So, you've met her lots of times?" asked Luna.

Celesca nodded. "Only in my head though. I know you don't want me to meet her for real. I'm sorry, Mummy. Please don't be angry with me."

Luna drew Celesca into a tight hug. "I'm not angry with you, petal. I'm just surprised, that's all. Your _grandmother_ didn't tell us any of this."

"She's good at keeping secrets," said Celesca. "She showed me how to be good at it, too ... when we were pretending that you weren't my Mummy."

"We won't ever pretend that again," said Luna, holding her daughter tight and close. "She wants to meet you properly … would you like to?"

Celesca drew back. "You don't want me to, though."

"No, it's more that _I_ don't want to," Luna sighed. "But she is your grandmother ... and if you want to meet her, I wont mind."

"I have to help her with Mister Harry and Miss Hermione's wedding," said Celesca, somewhat shyly.

Hermione looked over in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione," said Celesca, chirpily. "I can help join the pretty energy cords you both have, when you do your _calciumial wedding_ , or however you say it. Can I? I'd really like to see what happens when they meet. They _so_ want to."

"Do they?" asked Hermione, somewhat giddily.

"Oh yes," said Celesca happily. "It's like two parts of one thing that have been lost from each other. Now they get to join up as they are meant to be. They can't wait for it ... and neither can I. You will let me do it, won't you, Miss Hermione?"

Celesca was looking so earnestly at Hermione that she couldn't have refused her even if she did have any objections. Which she didn't. She rubbed longingly at her chest. She could almost _feel_ this energy herself now, reaching out like a coil from her own heart, questing for its complimentary half, beating away in Harry's chest next to her.

"Of course I will, honey," Hermione smiled.

"Oh good," Celesca beamed. "Nanny Ciss will be ever so pleased. We should go and tell her now. Then you and Mister Harry can get married whenever you want."

Hermione was sure her heart was going to burst out of her body at that declaration. It was lucky Harry's hand was already clasping tight to hers, as it gave her something to keep her upright.

"Well … okay then," Hermione said after a minute, holding her breathing as steady as possible. "I'll go to Narcissa, tell her everything. Luna, could you please find Enola for me? I need her for something important."

"What is it?" asked Luna.

"Well," Hermione grinned wildly. "I have a serious request to make of her ... and also to borrow one of her dresses ... because I don't think any of mine are suitable to get married in."


	37. What Friends Are For

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion and **scenes of a sexual nature** , copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Enola tried hard not to skip. Or bounce. But it was quite the impossible thing. For pure elation had been in short supply just lately around the palace. And, now that she had some, she was allowing herself to revel in it. So, here she was, moving through her walk-in wardrobe, humming happily to herself and thoroughly determined to do the best job that she could.

After all, it wasn't every day that a girl was asked to be a Maid of Honour.

And she _was_ honoured. But she felt slightly guilty at the same time. For she was now firmly convinced that Hermione had become her best friend. Enola had felt it creeping in surreptitiously for ages, but this conversation had simply confirmed it. Hermione had replaced Cassie, who Enola had known for much longer, in that coveted spot in her heart. Enola had let her go with crushing sadness, but she was powerless to prevent it.

For there was just something magnetic about Hermione Granger. She had a way of drawing people to her, in much the same way that Harry did. It was just natural that they were drawn to each other. And the happiness that Hermione inspired in Harry … well, it melted Enola's heart. For if anyone deserved happiness in Enola's eyes, it was Harry. And Hermione, who had suffered so dreadfully in her own way, was equally as deserving of the unbridled joy that their union promised to bring.

And Enola was just fitfully excited over the whole thing.

But which outfit to pick? Hermione had tasked Enola with this, placed her faith in her. And not just in terms of bridal fashions, but in asking her to be part of the biggest day of her life in this most intimate of ways. She had spoken so warmly of her, of how much she valued her friendship, of how important she'd come to consider her in such a short space of time.

Enola had been humbled, robbed of any kind of notion about how to respond, of any words that would have done justice to how she felt about any of that.

So she'd just given Hermione a deep hug, skipped into her wardrobe, had a little cry, and then got to work.

She drummed her fingers against her chin as she thought. She noticed a bit of unsightly hair growth there and yelped at the touch. Her wand was out casting hair-removal spells so fast that it would have looked like a blur to anyone who had seen. Had anyone seen? Enola hoped not ... she didn't like to think of anyone seeing her with a mini-beard. She shuddered bashfully at the thought.

This decision was a tricky one. This wasn't going to be a usual wedding, so converting one of her dresses into a standard wedding gown probably wasn't the way to go. And she wasn't sure of Hermione's style, either. Sally had provided her with a wardrobe of outfits and Hermione had simply chosen garments from that, but it wasn't as if she'd gone to a shop and bought a whole set of items to reflect her own tastes. She tended to plump for delicate cotton sundresses, but the warm weather dictated such choices, really.

Then there was the fact that this would be a ritual, too. That had to be factored in. Enola knew next to nothing about the alchemical process, so how was she expected to dress a White Queen for her alchemical wedding? Well, that was a start. She had to be in white, obviously. Enola flicked her wand and all her white dresses were suddenly floating in front of her. She didn't have many ... she was currently going through a phase of liking pastels for her own figure. She felt they created a cute contrast to her milky complexion. The low number of white garments made this easier, narrowing it down to a choice of just seven.

Enola discarded two immediately. They were far too sexy. Indeed, the neckline of one even plunged as low her belly button for Merlin's sake! That wouldn't do at all. Another two were maternity dresses, totally the wrong style, but she decided to discard these, too, on purely personal grounds. For she was turning her mind to the idea of maybe trying for a brother for Ally. She'd like to give Neville a choice of heirs for the House of Longbottom ... if she could ever find a way to make him capable of creating one with her again.

Of the three that remained, one of the dresses was her own wedding dress. She twirled it fondly in her hands, feeling the softness of the lace bodice. She wondered … it would be a fitting gift.

Hermione gasped when she showed it to her. "It's _beautiful,_ En … but I can't. This must have been yours, surely?"

"It was," Enola confirmed, brightly. "But you can always give it back, if you like. I intended to give it to Ally on her wedding day anyway. You can think of it as your _Something Borrowed_."

"Oh, Ennie … if you're sure," Hermione whispered reverently. "It really is beautiful."

"Then that's settled then," Enola smiled, bouncing in her happiness. "Stand still and let me take your measurements. We'll need to resize it a bit. My boobs are bigger than yours, but you have such womanly hips and a graceful arse ... we'll have to tuck the bodice down a bit to show it off. I'm sure Harry will approve."

Hermione did as she was told and Enola flicked her wand, conjuring a tape measure, which began taking Hermione's dimensions on its own. It did the usual ... height, waist, shoulder breadth, bust, inner thigh … quite why it felt the need to measure the distance between Hermione's nostrils and eyebrows was anyone's guess, but Enola just left it to it. She busied herself making the alterations to the dress as required. In the ensuing quiet, Hermione brought up a niggling doubt that had been on her mind.

"So, this Acolyte Induction," Hermione began, biting her lip. "I'm having trouble with it before we even start."

"Why, what's the problem?" Enola asked, fumbling through rolls of lace and diamante that she was considering as additions to her dress. "I told you that there isn't anything to worry about. You just have to open yourself up to the Coven, make a few vows, give a sample of blood to add to the protections around Harry, and then absorb the spells we throw at you. That wont be a problem, because your magic is of a power level that only Harry can compete with. You'll be fine."

"But I wont even be able to do the first bit," Hermione moaned. "I cant even say the place name to Apparate to for the ritual, so I'll fail before I even start!"

"Oh, come on!" Enola grinned. "It's not _that_ hard!"

Enola didn't look at Hermione as she spoke, and there was something teasing in her expression that stirred a little crossness in Hermione, as though she were being had on.

"That's easy for you to say," Hermione replied, pushing aside her suspicions for now. "You know the language ... I _don't._ Can you say the name again for me? Just one more time?"

Enola sighed in a patient air. "Okay, but it has to be the last time. It's part of the test, a component of the initiation. I can't do this for you, Hermione."

"I know, but please ... just one more go."

"Alright," Enola grinned, turning to her. "The standing stone circle is at _Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwryndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch._ Have you got it now?" 

"Lan-fire-puth-gwin ... oh, this is hopeless!" Hermione yelped. "I'm never going to get this!"

"Of course you will," Enola told her, confidently. "All you need is a bit of practice. Just take your time ... learn each bit on its own then put them all together."

"But there are so many bits!" Hermione bitched. "I cant say them on their own, let alone as one huge word!" 

Enola smiled amusedly at her. "So, do you plan to have a standard wedding after all this?" she asked, using her wand to take an inch from the hemline of her wedding dress.

"Now that's a much nicer idea!" Hermione exclaimed, happy to change the subject. "I'm actually thinking of researching marriage customs in every culture on Earth and marrying Harry in each of those, too. Just to be sure. We could have a marriage a month. I wonder if he'll mind."

Enola laughed. "I doubt it. Think of all the rampant wedding night sex he'd get!"

Hermione blushed. "I'm trying to focus on this one, first. I'm actually a bit terrified that I wont be able to keep it together ... you know, to perform for him on the night."

"What do you mean?" asked Enola, quirking her eyebrow and dropped her sewing things to her lap.

"Haven't you heard?" asked Hermione. "Harry has performed ritual sex magic on his _bedroom_! He's cast spells, drawn runes and who knows what other kind of symbols, charged crystals, placed totems … Ennie, I had an orgasm just five seconds after stepping inside the place! I've never seen magic like it."

"What!" cried Enola, dreamily. "Really?"

"Yep," Hermione nodded. "Poor little Celesca was with me. She didn't know _what_ was happening!"

"Does … does it affect other people, then, or is it just for you?" Enola asked, swarthily.

"Well, Luna could barely walk when she passed through it," said Hermione with a little giggle. "And when I asked your mother to have a look at what Harry had _actually_ done up there, she didn't return for over an hour. So, I'd say yes, it affects others, too."

"Hmmm," Enola swooned. "You really are the luckiest witch alive, Min. Do you know?"

"I'm starting to see it," Hermione grinned. "It's a nice change from being one of most cursed, as I was six months ago."

"It feels like you've been with us forever, though," said Enola thoughtfully. "I really am so happy for you, Min. I truly am."

"Thank you," said Hermione, as Enola gave her a hug. "And not just for agreeing to do this for me. I mean for everything you've done for me. You've been so kind since the day I arrived. I know I was a bit of a dick, being jealous of you at times … I mean, it's not your fault you are so gorgeous … but you really are my best friend now. I hope you don't mind me saying that."

"Of course I don't!" Enola squeaked, squeezing Hermione again. "I'm honoured. You're my best friend, too. I just _love_ that you asked me to be your Maid of Honour! I hope I get to be it for all of your other fifty-odd weddings, too!"

Hermione laughed and they broke apart. "Let's just see how you do at this one first! I brought you a book about alchemical weddings from Harry's library. Well, it's _my library_ , really. I think I might actually ban Harry from it, unless he's bringing me more books. He's a bit too boisterous for his own good to be allowed in there without supervision. He might break something in there, and that just wont do at all. I'd be be so cross with him if he ruined such a beautiful room in one of his tantrums or something. Anyway, you're going to need to have a look at the book. There's a piece in there about the Maid and the Best Man. You have a serious role to play."

"I do? Even better!" said Enola. "I'll have a look when we're done. Ooh … who's going to be the Best Man?"

"Harry is asking Neville to do it as we speak," Hermione revealed. "He's the obvious choice, really. Neville is as close to an actual brother as Harry could ever want ... it's a no-brainer for both of us. Seriously … does this tape measure _really_ need to know the length of my toenails?!"

Enola swooned at the thoughts running through her head. "Me and Nev ... playing such a personal role for yours and Harry's wedding ... it's almost perfect."

"Almost?" Hermione queried, raising her eyebrows. "What's missing?"

"Well, there is a component to arcane wedding rites that adds an even greater strength to the Bond," Enola began with a blush. "Something that would offer the energy of Maid of Honour and Best Man as further guardians of the Marriage Bond."

"And what's that?"

"Sex, Hermione," Enola flushed. "Sex Magic is on a par with Life and Death Magic in terms of raw potency. The emotional releases involved, the very fundamental nature of the energies called upon ... it's one the most natural forms of magic there is. And, in old rites, a Bedding Ritual seals the Marriage Bond after a wedding ... and there are some traditions that also draw on the sexual energies from the nominated witnesses ... the Maid and Best Man ... to enhance that. If Nev and I had sex at the same time as you and Harry, our energies would infuse with yours, making the Bonds between us all that much stronger and more intimate."

"Then why cant you?" Hermione asked. "That sounds quite lovely, and I'm sure Harry would agree to it. What's the problem?"

"Nev and I are the problem," Enola confessed, sadly. "We still cant have sex, can we?"

"Still?" Hermione asked, surprised. "Did the potions I brewed not work for you?"

Enola shook her head. "No. Thank you for trying, but Nev's problems seem immune to conventional magic."

Hermione looked pityingly at her friend ... then her eyes lit up. "Ennie, I've just had an idea. A most _brilliant_ idea! And, between you and me, that's actually saying something!"

"What is it?" Enola asked, her sad eyes stirred by the excitement in Hermione's tone.

"You said Neville seems untouched by conventional methods to get him aroused," Hermione began, standing and pacing thoughtfully. "Well, what if you tried something _unconventional?_ "

"I'm listening."

"Harry has done all kinds of powerful sex enchantments in his room," Hermione went on. "Your Mum told me he was pretty much _inventing_ new magic, just for me. I have no idea what that means, or if I'll even be able to handle it ... but maybe you can _test run_ it for me, see what it's all about. Maybe get me prepared for what I'm going to be facing on my wedding night."

"That sounds intoxicating ... but how will that help Neville?" Enola asked, her eyes alight and dreamy.

"It might not, but everyone who had been in that room has been affected by the denseness of the magic in there ... even little Celesca," Hermione continued. "What if there is something new in there, something experimental, that is causing all of this ... and what if Neville gets a blast of it, too? It might help him through his problem ... it's worth a try, don't you think?"

Enola leapt to her knees on the bed. "I'm willing to give anything a try at this point! But Hermione ... that's Harry's bed ... it will be your marital bed. It wouldn't be right for me and Nev to use it like that."

"Then do it on the floor!" Hermione laughed, naughtily. "But it's just a mattress, En ... I'm sure Harry can change the sheets if you insist. My ... can you imagine if he's sexually spelled the bedclothes, too? I think I might die in that room, you know."

"There would certainly be worse ways to go!" Enola giggled. "Alright, I'll give it a go. When shall we try for?"

"Harry is taking me to Cardiff tomorrow, to get the Princes to ratify our Betrothal," Hermione told her. "His room will be free then. I'll get Harry to find an excuse to send Neville to the seventh floor when we leave ... so wear something sexy and be there waiting for him ... I want to hear all about it when I get back!" 

* * *

It was a fortnight into September now, and the transition to Autumn was starting to hint of its arrival in this part of the world. The forest directly outside the Shield Ward of the Blue Palace was like a Bob Ross painting, touched with hints of browns and reds and ochres. There were even the rolling hills of the Brecon Beacons to complete this stunning vista. Harry was a huge fan of the magical world's greatest artist, and the Grand Gallery of the Blue Palace was replete with his works, ones that Harry had managed to collect on his travels. Harry hoped to tempt him to visit Wales once Voldemort was vanquished, but Bob rarely left Alaska these days, where he had retired after faking his death in the Muggle world, to spend more time with his happy little trees and his family of squirrels.

Harry and Hermione strolled hand-in-hand through this lush, picturesque valley as the morning sunshine blazed overhead. The fallen leaves and twigs crunched underfoot, early morning songbirds called out against the silent sky and shafts of light cut through the dense canopy overhead, lighting their way.

Hermione curled into Harry, taking his forearm with her free hand. "We'll be able to do this without fear soon. I can't _wait_ for that."

"I'm not afraid," said Harry, cocking his head to her. "I'm with you."

"Hey ... stop stealing all my goofy lines!" Hermione complained good-naturedly.

"We'll be married soon, Miss Granger, and what's yours will be mine then," Harry teased. "Might as well start practising now!"

Hermione laughed softly and clung a bit tighter to Harry's arm. "And I intend to steal everything of yours in return ... including _your_ surname. I cant tell you how much I'm looking forward to finally being _Mrs Potter_ , you know ... though I will answer to _Lady Potter_ , if you insist."

"I will today," said Harry. "The meeting I've set up will require strict formalities. Lord and Lady and all of that. But before we get onto all that, tell me something ... why did you ask me to send Neville to fireproof the curtains on my personal floor of the Palace?"

"I have my reasons," Hermione replied, evasively.

"I know," Harry quirked. "I can smell a scheme a mile off! What are you up to?"

"I'll tell you when I know if it worked or not," Hermione replied, haughtily. "It's all for a good cause, you'll just have to trust me."

"I do trust you," said Harry, puzzled as he scrunched his face, as though the challenging of this fact was utterly unnecessary.

"In any case, if that curious magic you've done to your room is any indicator, we might need to fireproof the whole house!" Hermione chuckled. "That was some seriously hot spellwork, Harry."

"Thanks, I'm glad you liked it!" Harry grinned, his eye flashing with fire. "Some of it might not even work ... but I've done _loads,_ just in case."

"Good god!" Hermione swooned, dreamily. "I cant wait! So, what's the plan for today?"

"It is two-fold, but both parts are about our future, a future that contains a responsibility not just to us … but to the whole country," Harry explained. "So this meeting will deal with both."

"You're not just talking about our wedding, I'm guessing. You're referring to the _Crown,_ aren't you?" Hermione breathed, lowly.

Harry nodded. "That's why I wanted to take this walk with you this morning. We aren't going to walk all the way to Cardiff, but we two, you and I, need to discuss how we want to proceed in this quite delicate matter."

Hermione fell into stride alongside Harry and regarded him, carefully. "What are your thoughts on it?"

"The simple one is that I don't want to be King of England," said Harry, bluntly. "I never have ... it was never part of my life plan, even when I learned that it could be. I just don't want that sort of burden. I told all of this to Queen Elizabeth before she died."

Hermione nodded, clutching Harry supportively as anger bubbled within him as the memory spiked. "Okay. I can't honestly say that I liked the idea of being Queen, either. Always in the public eye, a cheerleader for tourism ... I want the freedom to be able to do something useful with my life, something that doesn't involve all that pomp and ceremony."

"I'm so glad we agree on that," said Harry, squeezing her hand. "I've heard you talking about being a Queen … I just wasn't sure how far that went for you."

"Harry … I'm _your_ Queen ... in all of the ways that matter to me. And we have our beautiful Palace … that's fairytale enough! Let's leave the business of monarchy to someone else."

"I love you, don't you ever forget that," said Harry, staunchly. "You are just too perfect for me. I hope you don't wake up one day and realise that. You'd be gone before I even had a chance to argue my case!"

Hermione laughed again. "I've _already_ realised that, sweetie. But I decided to give you a whirl anyway."

"Your charity knows no bounds, my Lady!" Harry quirked.

"So, if we aren't going to be King and Queen of Britain, who are?" asked Hermione.

"That's what we're going to decide today," said Harry. "I'm going to have to accept a title, there's no way around it. So will you, as my future wife. But the ancient seals have been reignited. What's done is done."

"I don't know what you're getting at, but okay. I'll go along with it."

By now they had emerged from the forest. They were moving alongside a babbling little brook, looking down over the sweeping vista of the beautiful Brecon valley. Sweeping green and ochre fields, the remnants of old mines, a large reservoir glistening and twinkling in the distance. The locals called this God's Own Country … and as Harry and Hermione walked through and basked it its magnificence, they were hard-pressed to disagree.

"I, whether I want it or not, have the power of Regency over the British throne," Harry continued. "I can sit on it if I choose, or nominate someone to do it for me if I decide against it. Which I already have. But ultimate authority remains my right to claim at any time. Though in order to do that, I have to be officially invested in a high rank, one that is second only to that of the Monarch … to be next in line, so to speak."

Hermione gasped as comprehension dawned. "The _Prince of Wales_! You're going to become the Prince of Wales!"

Harry nodded. "When I took Excalibur it wasn't just because I was Arthur Pendragon's latest descendent. He's just an ancient ancestor of my family line. But the Sword has always been the Badge of Office of the House of Avalon, from which all other magical Houses can trace their lineage. It was the original House of Magic, sired by Merlin, the first of the Ancient and Noble Houses in British Magical tradition. The old seats of power in Wales have been dormant for hundreds of years, since the English crown subjugated this country."

"But your claiming the title has re-awoken them," Hermione nodded. "I see."

"Exactly," said Harry. "While we've been off fighting Riddle, the old Welsh kingdoms have declared their magical independence from the English crown, and demonstrated their fealty to me when we put on that display at Hengest. But there hasn't been a sitting Monarch to ratify the decision ... which is part of the reason that Riddle targeted Elizabeth. The Scots and Irish already have magical independence ... it is simply wrong that the Welsh continue to be denied this freedom."

"And that's what you're going to do?"

"As my one and only act as King of the Britons, yes," Harry nodded. "If you are content to just be the Princess of Wales, that is."

Hermione went a little dreamy for a moment. She liked the idea of being a Princess much more than that of being a Queen, which was odd.

"I'm sure I can cope with that," she smirked. "I mean, look how stunning this place is! Someone else can have the London Eye … I'll just keep these beautiful hills and valleys, thanks very much!"

Harry laughed at her. "And we have more castles than anywhere else in Europe. We could set up a rival school to Hogwarts or something in one of them, if you fancied that as a project."

Hermione's face lit up. "Oh … _Harry!_ Can we? What am I saying … these will be _my_ castles! Of course we can. Oh … we are _totally_ doing that, sweetheart! You cant take that promise back now you've made it!"

"I wont ... but how about a friendly wager for the naming of it?" Harry chuckled.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me come up with a name first, then we'll decide. Oh, wow, Harry … we _have_ to kill Riddle! … and as quickly as we can. I've got so much to _do_ now!"

Harry laughed at her. "Well, speaking of castles, we'd better get to our first one."

He took out a piece of rope from his cloak and offered one end to Hermione.

"Portkey?" she queried.

"It will be," Harry replied, before drawing his wand and proving good to his word.

They emerged at the top of the crumbing ruin known as the _Norman Keep_ , at the heart of the Cardiff Castle grounds. From here they could look out across the bustling Capital city of Wales ... as the Castle stood at the absolute centre of it ... which was already in the throes of morning life. Green and orange buses swept along the roads of Kingsway and Castle Street, shuttling coffee-laden commuters and shoppers into the busy city centre. The sun was low overhead, peaking through a silvery cloud-deck, and it speckled the battlements and the pretty clock tower and caused the scores of international flags hoisted from the ramparts to flap and flutter in a light breeze.

Harry watched the giant Welsh flag, with it's roaring red dragon emblazoned fierce and proud, snap back at them with the wind, over the drawbridge of the entrance gate, as though waving a Prince back to his throne. Which, of course, it pretty much was. Harry stirred at that, his heart thrumming gently beneath his ribs. He had never had a home to call his own … not since Riddle had destroyed his parents and the life they'd begun to build for them all … but this country was starting to feel an awful lot like one.

"This is Cardiff Castle?" Hermione asked, breathily. "Wow! It's so close to everything!"

"Quite a backdrop, isn't it?" Harry smirked. "I first saw it when Sir David brought me to watch a rugby match here a few years back ... I tell you, you should see the place on a matchday, it's just a sea of colour ... red and yellow for the most part, because of the replica jerseys and daffodils ... and the people are just as colourful. And when they start singing ... well, it's practically a religious experience. One day, we'll share it together."

"I look forward to it," Hermione crooned, tucking in close again. "So, what are we doing today?"

"There is a formal process we have to go through for you to become my Consort," Harry explained. "It's all very formal and there's nothing to worry about. It's just protocol, mainly to prove that I asked you to marry me and now I seek permission from my peers to conduct the ceremony."

"But you never _did_ ask me to marry you," Hermione whispered, playfully. "You just offered me a ring and told me you were mine if I wanted you. Which I very much did, as I think I've made clear. But you never actually asked the question."

Harry grinned at her. "We still have time ... if you want me to do this properly. But I'd have to take your ring back for that, and you seem quite covetous of it!"

"I am," Hermione confirmed. "But _you_ don't have a ring, do you? So ... though it may not be _traditional_ ..."

And Hermione suddenly dropped to one knee, slipping off the Potter family ring as she did so. Harry's heart was hammering under his ribs as Hermione looked back up at him, her eyes alive with love and passion. She held the ring up to him in trembling fingers.

"Harry Potter ... I love you. I've always loved you, and I always will, till death and forever beyond that. I offer this ring as a symbol of my love and devotion to you.

"Harry ... will you marry me?"

Hot tears stung at Harry's eye. This was silly ... they were already engaged, nothing could make that any more wonderful than it already was. But this, somehow, _did_. Emotion surged through him of an intensity that Harry had scarcely ever conceived of, let alone felt. He dropped to his knees to face his bride.

"I do, I so utterly do!"

Harry leant in to kiss Hermione with unrestrained passion a moment, before drawing back so she could slip the ring onto his finger, which immediately resized to fit. Then she drew him close for an intimate hug, just as a smattering of applause broke out behind them, for it seemed some other tourists had given them an audience.

"Congratulations!" the strangers swooned, as Harry and Hermione got to their feet and hurried past the newcomers and down the stone steps. Hermione at least had the good manners to call out a 'thank you' as they sailed by.

Then Hermione gasped in astonishment as they exited the ruin. "Harry … look! There are _peacocks_ over there! Look!"

Harry followed her line of sight to the well manicured-lawns beneath the Keep. And she was right. Peacocks, maybe half-a-dozen of them, were strutting around and having a jolly old time.

"Ooh, can we go and see them?" Hermione asked adorably, like an excited child.

Harry wasn't about to deny her anything, and this was an easy win. So they ambled down through the semi-ruined access path to the Keep, across a little footbridge and onto a gravel path, where they watched the peacocks strut and stroll and flash their purple and blue plumages.

"Oh, Harry! Aren't they beautiful!" Hermione whispered, clinging tight to Harry's arm. He sort of agreed. The feathers were nice but the birds themselves looked cross and moody. Harry was keen to keep them at arms length.

As they were already there, Harry and Hermione decided to take a complete tour of the castle while they had time. They moved through all parts of the place, from the buried Roman walls to the opulent Victorian Gothic apartments. It was rather breathtaking, but Hermione ruled it out as a possible venue for their new school, which Harry was secretly pleased with. Converting a derelict old castle somewhere remote was one thing … denying Cardiff one of its most iconic visitor attractions would be a completely different kind of nightmare altogether.

Harry and Hermione left the castle and made their way through the city. They passed an ancient pub, which clearly took its name from the occupants at the castle across the road. _The Peacock's Tail_ was a rambling old whitewashed building complete with Tudor black-beam rafters and flag-stoned floors, and Harry was determined to steer Hermione here later; then they swept around the Georgian church and the Old Market, which was once site of the jail and Hangman's Noose, but now was a vibrant bazaar of fish-sellers, local traders and such a mix of sights and smells that it was a little dizzying.

They moved beyond that, through the thoroughfare of the modern shopping district of the city, weaving between zoned-out, earphone-clad teens and harassed mothers with more kids than they could manage. They eventually came to a halt outside a modest-sized concert theatre.

"This is St. David's Hall," Harry explained, pointing up at the sign overhead as Hermione sent him a quizzical stare. "This is where the Knights of St. David meet to discuss affairs of state."

"Where are going? Into the auditorium?" Hermione funned, as Harry opened the door for her. "You never struck me as the thespian-type, Harry!"

"You'll see," he replied, mysteriously. "Come on."

Harry led the way inside. There was an old chap manning the reception desk. Harry flashed him his family ring as they approached his station. The man bowed deeply, then guided Harry and Hermione around the back towards a cloak room housed there. It was cool and dimly lit inside. The old man pulled down on a seemingly random clothes hook … and the wall behind it dissolved to reveal an ancient elevator, similar to the ones at the Ministry of Magic in London.

Harry and Hermione entered the elevator and the old man closed the old wooden grate behind them. The wall instantly reappeared, throwing everything into complete darkness. Hermione clung tight to Harry, but the darkness was so dense he couldn't even see her face … though she was so close her breath tickled his ear. The lift rattled down what must have been at least a dozen floors beneath the ground, as various flashes of colour interspersed the gloom every now and then. It took a good few minutes before light re-appeared below them and the elevator came to a juddering halt.

They stepped from the lift and made their way along a short corridor, which led to a single, large room. Hermione lost her breath at the sight of it, for they were now standing at the top of a bowl-like amphitheatre. It was made from dull viridian stone, and a dim source of light shone from a point high in the cavernous ceiling. There must have been seating space for several thousand people in here. But, right now, it was silent and deserted.

"Don't be afraid," said Harry, holding Hermione's hand as he sensed the rise of her emotion. "You're quite safe here. Come on."

Harry led her down the shallow stairs into the very centre of the amphitheatre. There should have been a stage here, and maybe on some occasions there was, but right now there were just four, circular stone platforms and another, larger one, facing them all. Behind each platform was a highly carved and ornate throne of black stone, possibly onyx or even highly-polish coal, which glinted every now and then where light from the ceiling caught the sparkly surfaces. 

"I see everything's ready," said Harry, approvingly. "Come and stand with me, Princess Hermione."

She grinned in a silly sort of way and ambled up to Harry's side. He pulled her close, so that they were both standing on the circular stone disc embedded into the floor.

"This is the King's Circle," said Harry. "When I activate _this,"_ he pointed to a rune panel on his right. "It will call the four Princes of the ancient Welsh kingdoms. They won't actually _be_ here, but will be mere projections. Don't step out of the circle, or you wont be able to see or hear them. Ready?"

Hermione nodded. Harry placed his wand to the rune stone.

"Princes! I summon you!"

There was a rush of energy to the right-most circle on the stage in front of them, quickly followed by another two circles to the left. Soon, all four were filled with fluttering images of regal-looking wizards, only one of whom Hermione recognised. They looked like holograms or ghosts from where Hermione was standing.

"I, Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed swear solemn fealty to Lord Harry Potter!"

Pwyll bowed his head to his chest.

"Hello, Prince of Dyfed," said Harry. "It is good to see you again. And how is your daughter?"

Pwyll looked up bashfully. "Branwen is very well, my Lord. And happy _not_ to be married! May I be the first to offer my support for _your_ future nuptials, however. For I assume that is why we have been summoned?"

"Thank you, Lord of Dyfed," Harry grinned. "And yes, you are quite correct. That is why we are here today."

"You will pass on our well wishes to Branwen?" Hermione added, swiftly.

Pwyll beamed at her. "I can assure you of it, my Lady, and thank you for your concern."

Then the others introduced themselves. There was Llewellyn of Clwyd, Owen of Gwent, and Dayfdd of Powys.

"And I am Harry, Prince of Gwynedd, and King of the Britons by the ancient protocol of Arthurian Accession," said Harry. Then he turned to the side. "And this is my wife to be … from today foreknown as _Princess Hermione_."

"To the Princess!" the others chorused in salute. It was a good job it was dark, for Hermione's blush might just have caused them all a little bit of concern for her health.

"I have called you here today, gentleman, to discuss the matter of the English throne … and of my impending marriage," Harry began, formally. Hermione marvelled at how easily he could suddenly sound like a statesman. "I am soon to make this extraordinary witch at my side my wife. I seek your support for this action, and offer the nomination of my Head Acolyte, Narcissa Malfoy, as further validation for Hermione becoming my Consort. After that, we must turn our attention to the state of our country. So, let's get the easy bit out of the way, first. All in favour of Hermione becoming the future Mrs Potter, say 'aye'."

All four Princes drew breaths, and said in loud unison - "AYE!"

"What? No objections?" Harry asked in mock distress, throwing a playful look at Hermione. "Not even one?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "I can still change _my_ mind, you know!"

"Good, that's settled then," Harry cried. "My friends ... make our betrothal official!"

Then the Princes all raised their ceremonial staffs, before driving them forcefully into the ground at their feet. Forks of lightening-like magic erupted at the point of contact, before surging like snakes from the Princes to Harry and Hermione, lighting them up a moment as the spells reached them. Harry grinned at Hermione, who felt a warmth rush all through her as the validation oath drifted across her body and magic.

"No backing out now!" Harry whispered teasingly to Hermione, who wrinkled her nose cutely back at him. Then Harry addressed his Princes. "Now Lord of Powys … the current climate, if you please."

"We have formally lodged our claim for magical independence," the Prince replied. "But, with the current power vacuum in London, we have not had a response. Furthermore, we have learned that the forces gathering in Ireland now outnumber us by nearly two-to-one ... and are growing every day."

"Where do the Americans officially stand on this?" Harry asked.

"They are in the throes of a convoluted election, with one candidate claiming all sorts of cheating and rigging going on," Lord Gwent cut in. "It is slowing the electoral process to a virtual crawl. One side seems to support us, the other backs Voldemort. But it seems to be on a State-by-State basis, with no consensus on the whole. It's pretty chaotic over there just now. And in the confusion, no-one seems to want to give a straight answer on behalf of the Government."

"And it isn't much better here, as the Muggle world remains in a state of high emergency," Lord Clwyd added. "The Royal Family are being kept under the most stringent security. The sons of Prince Charles, and their families, have not left the safety of the Tower of London for any reason since Queen Elizabeth was murdered."

"Then that's where they should remain," said Harry. "The White Tower is replete with ancient magical protections. They should be quite secure for the duration of their residence there."

"And what are your plans on that score, Lord Potter?" asked Llewellyn of Clwyd.

"Gentleman, let it be formally known that I intend to grant Wales magical independence … then turn over Regency of the British crown to the next in line from the House of Windsor."

"My Lord," said Lord Dyfed, as the others nodded their excited approval. "That may not be entirely suitable, given the current situation."

"And why not?"

"Well, it's Prince Charles, you see," Lord Dyfed explained. "The public execution of his mother affected him hugely. It has caused him to have a break from reality, and his health is in a very poor state, we understand."

"We can even confirm the rumours that he is turning to wizards to plan a possible revenge," Lord Gwent added, starkly. "And he is being manipulated to consort with Dark Forces to facilitate this, hoodwinked into believing them to be honourable."

"If he aligns himself with wizards placed around him by Voldemort, then we may become vulnerable," Lord Powys reminded them all.

"How so?" asked Hermione.

"All magic around Britain flows into the ruling Monarch, giving them power and influence," Harry explained. "Through acts of reverence and worship, magical energy is literally expelled into a sort of energetic power grid that spans the country, and indeed, the whole world. There are points of ley line convergence, and swirling magical vortexes, where this power can be tapped into and manipulated or drawn out, but the knowledge of how to do it is protected by the Royal family. I only learned the technique properly when Elizabeth taught _me_ some years ago."

"So, if Tom Riddle somehow took control of Prince Charles as a sort of puppet ruler, he could learn this secret, too?" Hermione surmised, horrorstruck by the very idea.

"Exactly, and that would make even our Palace protections something they could undermine," Harry nodded, darkly.

"Is that why we are here today? So that if Riddle does get to Charles, he wont be able to use him in this way?"

"That's the hope, but we need to know how far Riddle has proceeded with this plan," Harry replied. "In any case, I still need to nominate a successor to rule in my place."

"I would recommend promoting William, his eldest son, to the office of King," Lord Dyfed advised. "He has a good head on his shoulders, is popular with the public ... he is just the sort of figure we will need to help heal the wounds of this country in a post-Voldemort world."

"I have heard about poor Charles," said Harry, sadly. "But, gentleman, as you know ... as the Heads of the Order of the Knights of St David ... I can only nominate a successor to the throne if _I_ assume the title of the next in line … as _Prince of Wales_ , myself. I must now ask you to invest me in that role, as tradition dictates. Then, yes, I agree with Lord Dyfed ... I will nominate Prince William to the Throne of England."

The Prince of Dyfed immediately drew his wand, and placed it to his chest.

"I, Pwyll, recognise Harry Potter as rightful Crown Prince of Wales. I swear fealty to him and all his kin, so all here bear witness."

Harry felt the oath fall heavily on him, like a wave of searing heat from his head down to his chest. He felt it three times more, as the other Princes quickly followed Pwyll's example. Harry glanced at Hermione, who was wearing a surprised expression, her eyes bright and dancing. The oath must have settled on her, too, Harry realised, as proof incarnate of their formally betrothed status. Harry took her hand and squeezed it tight, earning an adoring smile in return. This was all becoming very real for them both, and the emotions it stirred defied explanation.

"All hail Prince Harry the First! May his reign be long and prosperous!" called out the Lord of Powys, taking a knee as he did so.

The other Princes knelt in unison, and Hermione suddenly did, too. Harry tried to tug her back to her feet, but she sternly resisted.

"It's just for the ceremony, Harry ... and you know that it's right that I do this, if only for the protocol," Hermione whispered, before grinning at him. "I worship and revere you first, and above all others ... but don't go getting any grandiose ideas of being _in charge_ of me, though. We both know where the power lies in our relationship!"

"And I give it gladly!" Harry laughed back. He turned to the others. "Arise, my Princes, my friends, and my future wife! Lord Powys, please send word of what has taken place here, and our intentions, to London. I will meet with the Royal Family when I can safely deliver the country back to them.

"Everyone else, I ask humbly that you make land and provision available for when I request it. This war has cost many lives and there are shattered families that will need assistance and convalescence, both at home and those who will return from abroad ... and we are not yet done adding to those numbers. I will need to call on your support and hospitality before long. Till then … to the Land of Our Fathers!"

"The Land of Our Fathers!" the Princes called back, before vanishing one by one, till only Lord Dyfed remained.

"What is it, Pwyll?" Harry asked. "Do you have another point of business?"

"Just one, my Lord," Pwyll replied, his tone grave. "I have received word of a worrying development regarding yourself ... and your standing in the _Muggle_ world."

"Go on," Harry urged.

"News reached us of Princess Hermione's visit to Europe recently," Pwyll continued. "And it seems we were not the only ones. As you know, the Ministry of Magical Governance ... which was formerly the Ministry of Magic ... has always maintained a link to the Muggle Prime Minister. We understand that Voldemort's First Minister, the puppet he uses to run the day-to-day business of Government ... one Dolores Umbridge ... has used that connection to have you declared a traitor and terrorist in the Muggle world. A reward of several million pounds has been offered for information leading to your capture.

"In short, the Muggles are looking for you, Lord Potter ... and it may not have been safe for you to travel here today."

"What have you heard, Pwyll?" Hermione demanded.

"Just before I answered your summons, I received an email ... a form of electronic communication used by Muggles ... from one of my informants. They told me that you had been spotted and Muggle security sent en masse to this location. You need to be careful, my Lord, and certainly not leave via the concert hall. The whole area around it has been placed into lockdown and is swarming with armed Muggle forces."

"Thank you, Lord Dyfed," Harry frowned as he absorbed the news.

"Good luck, Lord Potter," Pwyll nodded, before his image dissipated away.

"Harry? How big is this problem?" Hermione asked, seriously.

"Let's find out," Harry replied. He placed his hand back to the rune panel and muttered below his breath. An image emerged before them, hanging in the air like a movie projection without a screen. It showed an arc of Muggle police, all with raised rifles pointing at the front of St. David's Hall. Hermione gasped as she looked at it.

"Could they find us down here?" she breathed.

"If they knew where to look, or accidentally stumbled onto the coat hook upstairs," Harry mused, thinking fast.

"Cant we just Apparate out?"

"Through twelve storeys of solid rock?" Harry quirked. "Rock probably imbibed with ancient, long-lost magic? You can try if you like, but I wouldn't recommend it. Besides, if the Muggles know we are here then so do the Death Eaters. They'll have thrown an anti-Disapparition ward around the place by now."

"Then how do we get out?" Hermione squeaked, slightly desperately.

"By staying _calm_ for one thing," Harry implored, with a little smirk.

"Can we fight our way free?"

"I'd rather not," Harry replied. "Not with a street full of Muggles out there. Last thing I want is for any of them to get caught in the crossfire."

"Which is probably _precisely_ what Tom Riddle wants," Hermione huffed, sagely. "The headlines about you would be damning."

"My point exactly," Harry nodded. "Come on ... there's another exit that leads into that pub opposite the castle. We might find help there."

Harry took Hermione's hand and led them back to the top of the amphitheatre, hurrying along the uppermost tier to a spiral staircase that disappeared into the roof. Hermione baulked at the sight of it, for there were a _lot_ of stairs to climb. But it seemed the more sensible way out, and Harry was already starting out on the ascent. It took nearly fifteen minutes of solid climbing, but eventually they reached a door in the brick wall that led to the cellar of the pub. When they emerged, someone was there waiting for them.

"Owain!" Harry exclaimed as his Knight welcomed him back to the surface world. "What are you doing here?"

"I was the one who told Pwyll about the Muggles," Owain Glyndwr Jones informed them. "I used to be the Ministry liaison with the Muggle agency called MI5. I still have friends there, and they dropped me word about this."

"So, what's the situation?" Harry asked.

"I've got us some drinks in the bar, let's discuss it up there," Owain advised. "We need to blend in if we want to avoid the Muggles. Here, Boss, sling this on."

Owain handed Harry a nondescript hooded sweatshirt, which Harry donned, using the hood to hide his shawl.

"Good thinking," Hermione nodded, as she and Harry followed Owain from the cellar. "But how did you know to be here?"

"As soon as I told Pwyll about the Muggles I came here to wait," Owain revealed. "The pub exit is the only other way in or out, so I came here to guard it ... just in case the secret has leaked out. Luckily, we seem to be okay. Here, Harry, I got you a golden ale ... I guessed a pink gin and tonic for our ... ahem ... _Princess_ , here! It's all the rage, so I'm told!"

"Thank you, and your guesses are supremely good!" Hermione grinned, taking the drink and sipping deeply.

Harry drank greedily, too, giving out a satisfied _ahhh_ as the liquid flowed down his throat. It allowed him to look around the quaint little pub. It was wonderfully cosy. Low ceilinged and softly lit, there were snug corners and rickety tables, character and history seeping out of the very walls themselves. The horseshoe-shaped bar was shiny from overuse, and there was a beautiful smell of warm food wafting from somewhere deep in the building. Harry swam in it, feeling warm and content, and wondering just how the owners of the dogs, in a painting that hung behind the bar, had managed to teach them to play snooker.

That was magic worth learning.

But then reality intruded. The door tinkled open and two uniformed police officers walked in to the hushed silence they created. They looked around with firm, ugly expressions. Owain turned his own worried look to Harry who saw, with a flash that sent him ultra-alert in a second, that Owain had drawn his wand beneath the table. He saw Harry scowl at the action.

"Just in case," Owain murmured, lowly. "I don't want to engage them ... but I will, to buy you time to escape if it comes to that."

Hermione bit her lip in her anxiety, her very skin was tingling with it as the officers came ever closer. They were almost at their table when Hermione had a sudden idea. Heart beating loudly in her ears, she moved quickly while their heads were turned. She flipped Harry's chair and pulled him practically into her lap, kissing him deeply. She tugged his hood and scarf down, exposing his hair but keeping his face firmly turned to her. She reasoned that the officers would be looking for a suspicious individual in a hood or head covering of some sort, and Harry fit the bill exactly.

She would also get a fabulous kiss out of it.

The ruse seemed to work. The officers reached their corner table, Hermione heard Owain make some off-handed comment about the passion of young lovers and early alcohol consumption, soon followed the shuffling of heavy feet as the officers moved away. Hermione breathed heavily, pulled Harry's head to her shoulder to hide his scar, then opened her eyes cautiously to Owain.

"They're gone," Owain grinned back. "But don't let me disturb you!"

"Pervert!" Harry grinned, tugging his shawl back on.

Owain smirked in response, but then his face darkened with seriousness. "That's the third time they've checked the place. They are averaging a sweep every fifteen to twenty minutes. We have to find you another way out."

"What about that painting, in the boiler room upstairs?" Harry suggested. "That used to create a passageway to the old crypt at the Merlin Church of St. James in Caerphilly. It might still work."

"A painting? As a portal?" Hermione queried. "I didn't know they could do that."

"They were forerunners of Portkeys," Harry explained. "Like that one Aberforth Dumbledore had to Hogwarts. But they were limited as they could only go to a single place ... either depicted in the painting or the actual physical location that it was kept, though often they were the same thing. Their use fell out of habit, but some still survive to this day. There used to be one hanging in the lounge here, but it was taken down when the Church of The Dark Mark Vigilants began cracking down on other faiths. The painting showed the Church and Merlin, who was seen as a false idol and had to be destroyed. I was hoping it would still be here."

Owain shook his head. "The Church was burned down in the purges, and the painting destroyed in the fire. The other one leads to nowhere now. The only other way out is via the river ... if we can smuggle you beyond the anti-Disapparition field on the water you should be able to easily return to the Palace."

"Is there access from the rear of the pub?" Harry asked.

"No," Owain replied. "There has been a control put in, to help with high tides. We'll have to get you into Bute Park and onto the river there."

"But how will we find someone to take us upstream?" Hermione asked, sounding dubious about the plan.

"It's late Summer and there's plenty of water traffic," Owain told her, confidently. "We just have to find a discerning traveller interested in making a few quid. Let's go."

Harry threw the last of his beer down his neck, threw his hood over his head and followed Owain and Hermione from the pub. They walked quickly, tagging on to groups crossing at road lights and mingling with tourists as mounted police trotted by and scanned the crowd from on high. There were police everywhere, on horses, in cars, and patrolling on foot. Hermione began to think they wouldn't get through at all. At one point Owain even forced them into a bus shelter and talked in loud French until a couple of armed police officers gave them up as a bad job and walked on.

Eventually, they reached the park and moved away from the throng of people. They hurried down towards a little jetty that served as a platform to board a water taxi. There were several brightly coloured narrowboats moored there and their owners mingling about enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Owain led the way towards them, when suddenly a deep voice barrelled out from the trees.

"Oi! You there! Stop right now!"

Harry and Hermione turned to look at a burly security officer who was hurrying towards them. Owain clocked him, too, and looked around to see if anyone else was watching. They seemed to be alone.

" _Stupefy!"_ he cast in a whisper. A jet of light burst from his wand and hit the officer square in the jaw, knocking him cold in an instant.

"Owain!" Harry cried in admonishment. "What are you doing!? He could have radioed in or anything!"

"Then you'd better not be here when the back-up arrives," Owain warned. "Come on."

They left the strewn officer and raced to the jetty. Owain approached the group of watermen.

"Right folks, who wants to earn a quick grand," Owain announced. He reached into his jacket and waved a wad of notes in the air. Several intrigued heads turned his way.

"What's it for?" asked a heavily bearded man smoking a pipe.

"My friends need to get up river, quickly, with no questions asked," Owain announced.

"Who you getting away from ... magic or Muggle?" asked the boatman. "We all saw your little spell back there."

Harry and Hermione swapped surprised looks, but Owain appeared to have suspected this.

"Both," Owain replied.

"Magic'll cost ya double."

"Two grand," Owain announced, pulling another wad of cash. Harry had to wonder where he was getting this money from.

The boatman walked forward, drew his own wand, and passed it over the cash. Satisfied that it was all legitimate, he beckoned Harry and Hermione forwards.

"Me boat's the _Lily-Mae_ ," he grinned toothily. "Climb aboard and keep yer heads below deck till I come and say. We'll get you passed all these bastards in no time, don' you worry ... Mr Potter."

"Thank you," Harry grinned, shaking the boatman's hand when he offered it. "You know me?"

"Aye, you're known to all the water-folk ... and the only thanks I need is for you to rid us of that evil bastard keeping us all under his iron boot. We're glad to help you, Harry Potter, and yer pretty lady, too."

"I appreciate it," Harry nodded, stoutly. Then he turned to Owain. "You'll take care of the copper you attacked?"

"What are friends for?" Owain quirked with a little grin.

Harry shook his hand, too, then helped Hermione aboard the little barge and they ducked away out of sight.

"The _Lily-Mae_ , eh?" Hermione quirked, as she sat down on one of the narrow benches as the engine kicked to life. "Ever get the feeling that your Mum is watching over us?"

"Sometimes, but I hope she looks away now," Harry grinned, tugging down his shawl to reveal his scarred face. "Because I was quite enjoying what we started at the pub, and it was a shame to end it so early!"

Hermione giggled and allowed Harry to pull her down atop him, their lips crashing into each other as the boat slowly began to move. 

* * *

Neville had to admit that he was highly intrigued to see this for himself. He wouldn't believe it was possible until he had, because even Harry wasn't capable of magic like _that_. The witches of the house just had to be wrong.

They just had to be. Every single one of them.

For that's all they were all talking about. _Harry's sex room_. Neville laughed just by thinking about it. It was typical Harry, meticulous planner as he was, but to create such powerful, lingering effects … that was new a standard even for him. The amount of work that must have gone into it was astonishing to consider, if any of it was right at all ... which Neville was still highly dubious about.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to have a look, especially as Harry had asked him to cast fire-repelling charms on all his flammable furniture. His wedding night was just going to be that hot, it would seem.

Besides, Neville's hunt for Enola was proving fruitless. Sally ... poor, one-armed Sally ... had come to find him, to tell him that his wife was looking for him, though the elf didn't say why, which was a little bit curious in itself. So Neville had started looking for _her_. They must have been looking in the wrong places, because neither had found the other one yet. And Neville had been at this for an hour already.

And everywhere he went, and everyone he asked, was busy talking about the same thing ... the sexual magic that Harry had imbued into his bedroom walls. It was, literally, the _hot_ topic of the day. Apparently, some of the witches of the house had even queued up outside the room to experience it for themselves. The visions of _that_ made Neville's head spin.

So now he was going to see it for himself. Then he was going to sit in one place and wait for Enola to find him later.

He always felt a pang of discomfort whenever he came up to Harry's most private space, as though it was the one location that Harry should have solely to himself. But then, if the rumours were true, everyone else had already been here lately, so why should Neville be the odd one out? That ship had sailed. He hadn't been up here in ages … and the memory of it didn't sit well with him at all.

For it was the day after the third anniversary of Harry's supposed death. He knew that Hermione held a party for him every year, and that people still loyal to him attended. Ron had sworn after the second year that he wouldn't go again. That year it had been held at number six, Privet Drive. The house had been vacant for years, and nobody seemed to want to buy it … not after the brutal murders of the family living at number four several years previous. The other residents of the cul-de-sac all swore it was haunted …

So Hermione had set up the party there, hoping its link to Harry would draw his spirit. It didn't work, obviously, but it did draw Neville Longbottom. He transformed himself into his Animagus shape ... a dragonfly ... and hid in a lampshade to watch proceedings and report back to Harry on how Hermione was doing.

The net result of this report was that Harry had set fire to half the palace in his fury.

For that very morning, Ron had broken Hermione's arm and dislocated her shoulder. He had tried to stop her from going to the Deathday party, twisting her wrist ... causing it to snap ... then tearing her shoulder from its socket as she tried to break free from his grip. She was in excruciating agony, but she wouldn't fail to host the Deathday Party for anything. So she'd gritted her teeth, fashioned a makeshift sling from a tablecloth, and bore the pain as best she could.

Harry didn't have anything like the same sort of restraint. It was the first time Neville had seen Harry's rage turn _incendiary_. It certainly wouldn't be the last. Especially where Ron Weasley was concerned. Neville had felt powerless to stop him, had no idea what he was supposed to do. If Harry hadn't knocked himself out, by bringing a whole roundtower down on top of himself, Neville was certain the outcome would have been ... well, too horrendous to even think about.

And that was the last time he'd been in Harry's bedroom, to deliver his broken body to start its recovery. But now, here he was again, and it was just bizarre to compare the two circumstances. He chuckled to himself, pondered just how filthy a mind Harry _really_ had under all that bravado, and opened the door to the Seventh Floor.

And immediately knew that something wasn't as it should be ... for there was a trail of clothes leading to Harry's closed bedroom door. Not only that, but Neville recognised the clothes ... for they belonged to his _wife_.

"What in the fuck are Enola's knickers doing on Harry's floor?" he said out loud, cocking an eyebrow as he picked them up. "And this is definitely her bra, too. And another thong, and another bra. What is going on?"

He reached the door and turned the handle suspiciously ... and lost his breath at what he saw inside.

For there, on top of Harry's messed up sheets, was Enola, one hand between her legs and pounding away furiously, the other roughly pinching the nipple of her exposed breast.

Neville just stared and watched a moment. He felt the power of the room suddenly crash into him just standing in the doorway. His groin throbbed, it _ached_. He had to grab it and squeeze, it wasn't even a choice. Enola's throaty moans were just the most erotic sounds Neville had ever heard ... and the magic of the room seemed to magnify the effect by a factor of a hundred Neville just stood and drooled over her, captivated by her display. She had torn open her dress in her lust, quite literally. Neville could see the buttons dotting the carpet where she'd ripped them off. And now his wife was writhing around in private ecstasy.

His wife. He'd never fully believed that. That this girl, this absolute vision of beauty, was his wife. That she'd chosen _him,_ little Neville Longbottom. He remembered the first day he'd seen her … and the breath she stole from him with just a look. That smile, that face … that incredible body. He'd never once thought she'd be interested in _him_. Not in a million years. She was Harry's chief carer, that's the only reason she'd have to ever speak to him.

That was until she started pursuing him like a predator ... and Neville had never been so happy to be hunted in all his life.

And he just looked at her now, marvelled at his good fortune. It was the naughtiest, _hottest_ thing he could imagine. It was like the first time he'd seen her naked, when she did a little striptease for him. And he just stared at her naked form, drank in her astonishing sexiness for fully ten minutes ... before she got antsy and pounced on him like a half-wild animal. He'd forgotten her lately, neglected her. She had needs … and he needed to man the fuck up.

And then, with a gasp of surprise ... he noticed that something else _was_ up ... something that hadn't been up in a long, long time.

Enola heard and turned to the sound, pulling the sheets up momentarily in her shock at being caught mid-play. Then she glanced at Neville's waistline, and the tent that was poking back at her. She licked her lips like a wanton vixen.

"Are you just going to stand there, or shall we take care of _that_ problem for you?" she purred like a feral kitten. 

Neville's robe was off in a moment and he kicked the door shut, locking it with his wand before throwing it to the floor, too. But he didn't know what to do next, as though he had forgotten somehow. So Enola leapt to her feet and faced up to her husband, nose-to-nose a moment. They breathed heavily, speaking in raspy puffs, the air between them humid and expectant, ready to explode at any second. Neither knew who moved first, but Enola's hand was suddenly on the back of Neville's neck, his hands either side of her face, on her boiling hot skin, as she captured his mouth and pulled him down atop her on the bed. 

Then she flipped him around and straddled him. Neville could feel her moistness dripping down onto this thigh. The thought sent waves of hot senselessness speeding through him. Enola moved, repositioned herself, ready to move in … then Neville held her still.

"No, not on Harry's bed," he panted lustily. "This is the marital bed. We cant … Harry would never forgive us …"

"No problem … there's plenty of wall space," Enola purred, filthily.

Neville grinned and scooped her up in one movement, entering her as they pounded back against the window, the wall, any spot they could reach. She was deliciously warm and wet. Neville was beyond lust, beyond technique. Enola wrapped her strong thighs around his waist and encouraged him with her movements, mewling throatily as she sent her tongue into battle in his mouth again. She'd missed this so much, missed him. And he was just the same. How could he have let himself become such a poor husband? He'd make it up to her now, as often as he could.

"I've missed you," she breathed sexily into his ear, biting his lobe. "Don't hold back."

Neville was like a jack hammer now, thrusting powerfully. "I love you," he murmured lowly.

"I love you, too," Enola purred back. "But don't make love to me … just _fuck me_."

And Neville did as he was told. For five whole minutes. Till he could hold back no more and he spilled into her with a feral sort of growl. They slid to the floor, entangled and sweaty, struggling for air. Enola's eyes were bright and twinkling as she perched herself on her elbows to gaze at Neville.

"Harry is _so_ doing this to _our_ bedroom," she giggled, hugging her husband close.

"Damned bloody right he is!" Neville returned, grinning broadly. "And he's doing it tomorrow, otherwise I'll threaten not to be his Best Man!"

"It's so good to have you back ... all of you," Enola purred, stroking Neville's sweaty fringe from his eyes.

"It's good to be back!" Neville grinned. "But how ..."

"Ssshhh, that doesn't matter," Enola whispered. "Just hold me. That's the only thing you have to do."

So he did, until they fell asleep in each other's naked arms.


	38. The Order of Merlin

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

The air in the room was seriously tense. On the one side was Narcissa Malfoy, standing in an almost regal pose, but waiting, Hermione thought, with dignified respect. Facing her with a look of dubious curiosity was Luna, with little Celesca tucked protectively close to her side. The little girl looked like she didn't know how to be, torn between these two forces literally crackling in the face of one another.

And in the middle of it all stood Hermione ... anxious, edgy, not at all sure how this was going to go.

It was Narcissa who broke the heavy silence between them.

"Miss Lovegood," she began in a solemn tone. "No words can convey my deep regret, my heartfelt sorrow over my son's terrible actions towards you all those years ago. Nor can they do justice to my irremovable shame at allowing you to suffer so horrifically. I am owed to be resented by you forever, and I would expect nothing less as my due. Know only that I was powerless to assist you, trapped as I was under the tyranny of the Dark Lord and my own husband. I mourned for you in the aftermath, but I do not deserve redemption, nor am I arrogant enough to seek it from you.

"I ask only that I be allowed to know your wonderful daughter, my only grandchild. I will respect any boundaries you set and hope, should you have it in you, that we may begin to forge a new relationship through our shared love of little Celesca."

Luna looked over at Hermione, in obvious surprise. Hermione raised her eyebrows in return.

"Thank you, Lady Malfoy, for your sympathy," said Luna. "I suppose I can accept that you were unable to help me, and maybe I'm transferring my hate of your son, and of The Dark King, onto you. I can make no promises that I can change that, but I will try, for the sake of my daughter. But I have expectations of you."

"Of course," said Narcissa, chancing a hopeful step forwards. "Name them."

Luna smiled weakly. "I expect you to spoil her, to love her rotten, to pass on all your knowledge and skills to the best of your abilities. You know things about her unique talents that I can only guess at. She has great need for your guidance, and I expect you to help her however you can."

Narcissa smiled warmly. "I can do all of that, Miss Lovegood. I promise you that and so much more. She will want for nothing that I am able to provide."

"Good. I'm glad of that," said Luna. She knelt down and turned Celesca to face her. "I'm going to leave you alone to talk with your grandmother for a bit. You be a good girl, be polite and respectful and ask all the questions you can think of."

Celesca grinned mischievously. "I'm always a good girl, Mummy."

"Yes, you are," Luna smiled fondly at her daughter. She stood and turned to go.

"I'm staying," Hermione announced stubbornly, throwing a look at Narcissa for a challenge. It never came. She turned back to Luna. "I'll bring her back to you when they're done."

"Thank you," said Luna, smiling appreciatively. "I'm going to be in the stables, grooming the unicorns. This dry weather is attracting doxys to their coats."

"Ooh, I'd like to see the unicorns!" cried Celesca in her excitement. "You will take me there later, won't you, Miss Hermione?"

"Of course, sweetheart," said Hermione. "Now, go and meet your Grandma properly. I'm sure you have lots to talk about."

Celesca skipped to Narcissa and they retreated to a couch near the window. Hermione sidled up to Luna.

"Don't worry, I wont let Narcissa turn her into a Malfoy," Hermione grinned firmly. "Good ploy with the unicorns, though. All little witches love unicorns."

"What ploy?" asked Luna innocently, whipping out a brush. "I _am_ going to the stables. Harry said it was alright for me to."

Hermione shifted awkwardly. "Oh, right. Well, I'll bring Cesc to you in a while."

Luna took one last, almost sad look at Celesca before leaving the room. Hermione turned and frowned at the two on the couch. They were already as thick as thieves and chattering away rapidly. Hermione moved to a cosy chair near to the window, where she could eavesdrop on the conversation without it looking like that's what she was doing, and took a book down from a case that was in an alcove there. She felt that immediate sense of contentment that having a book in her lap brought to her. She didn't even have to know what it was about. There were just fewer things more symbiotic in the world than Hermione Granger and some oversized tome between her fingers.

She caught herself daydreaming as she sat there. It was quite possible, if all went to plan, that she would be married to Harry within a matter of days or weeks. This house, and everything in it, would then be officially hers, even though she'd been lording it over everyone as Lady of the Manor pretty much since she'd arrived. It would be beyond contestation as soon as it was official. And, as she sat there and watched out of the window at the birds rising from the distant orchard, she found herself in the throes of a romantic fantasy.

She dreamed of herself a year from now, sat in this same chair, looking out at the same orchard. It would be her orchard by then. Harry could be quaffing the cider pressed from its apples. She would have a book in her hand, and she'd be blissfully happy like that. Celesca would be there, too, but not talking to Narcissa. She'd be cooing to a newborn baby, talking to it with her incredible Seer ability.

And Hermione wondered then if she and Harry would have a boy or a girl first.

The thought jolted her to full alertness and set her heart to tremulous beating. All sound seemed to have stopped in the world and Hermione was smiling wildly to herself, she knew she was, and accepted that it might have looked like she was going a bit mental to anyone who was watching, but she couldn't help it. What would she prefer first ... a son or a daughter? It was such a happy conundrum to daydream away to.

She had to think she'd prefer a little girl first. She was falling a bit in love with Celesca and, if Luna ever decided she was bored with being a Mum, maybe she'd let Hermione adopt her. She rolled her eyes at her own insane silliness and considered what Harry would rather have. The very notion that they would even be able to have such a conversation was so wonderfully ludicrous that Hermione wanted to laugh out loud, just because she could.

The ring now missing from her finger had been such a burden ... the last true link to the Weasleys and her abusive marriage to the youngest son of that hated family. She was feeling like her old self again, more and more so with each hour that her hand was free of that ugly piece of tin. But it was more than that, because she felt like a better her, a stronger one. She'd come through a horrendous experience, been beaten but not broken ... and the universe had rewarded her with Harry and the love they were now drowning in.

And Hermione had to think it would reward her with a baby from him, too.

She hoped that would turn out to be true, but they had a world to change before all of that. Besides, she was supposed to be keeping an ear on what Narcissa was discussing with Celesca, but it was something that Luna's daughter was saying that turned Hermione back to the conversation ... and turned her stomach to boot.

"Can ... can you stop them doing it Nanny Ciss?" Celesca was asking in a pitiful little voice. "Can you stop them giving me nighty-mares? I really don't like them, and they are making me awfully frightened. Can you stop the crazy lady with the wild hair from bringing the nasty witch with the black eyes into my dreams ... can you stop her because she's your _sister_?"

Hermione felt all her breath leave her in one, agonizing go. She leapt up and hurried over the couch, kneeling down where Celesca was kicking her feet against the bottom of the seat.

"What did you just say?" Hermione demanded, then she swore at herself in her head as Celesca looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes, as though expecting a serious telling-off. "I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean that to sound so nasty. Can you tell me what you just said to your Grandma?"

"I was just telling her that I've been having some nighty-mares," Celesca explained, timidly. "But I know they're not normal nighty-mares, because I can stop those ones if I have them. So these must be real, because I cant."

Hermione felt her heart crack at Celesca's fraught little tone. "And you think you know who's causing them? You think it's your Grandma's sister?"

Celesca nodded, grimly. "But it's not just her ... it's the _other_ one ... and she's just as bad."

"Which other one?"

"The ugly witch with the black eyes and long black hair," Celesca answered, quietly. "The one who used to be _your_ sister, Miss Hermione, before you snapped that nasty cord inside you. I mean, she wasn't _really_ your sister ... but she still was somehow. I don't really know how that works, but she was."

Ginevra twatting Weasley. Her hair and eye pigments tainted black by carrying Voldemort's evil offspring in her cursed womb ... this must be who Celesca was referring to. And she had found a way to invade her dreams? Hermione scowled viciously at the thought ... ooh, when she saw that bitch again, she was going to kick her right in the ovaries.

Hermione turned her head to Narcissa with a dark frown. "You'd better explain this to me, right now. Did you know?"

"I had no idea," Narcissa replied, shaking her head. "This is the first I am hearing of this, I promise you."

"Hmm," Hermione huffed, not sure if she totally believed this. "And how is she getting into Celesca's dreams? And more importantly ... why?"

"The 'why' I have no clue about," Narcissa answered. "Though my guess would be that there is something we have overlooked regarding why Celesca was targeted in the first place. Perhaps our enemies have an interest in her that we have been as yet unaware of."

"Something beyond her Seer ability, you think?" Hermione pondered in response. "Like what?"

"Who knows, but my goal will be to uncover it as soon as we are done with your Acolyte Induction."

"I'll leave that to you, then," Hermione nodded. "But you said you know how they are doing this? Explain it to me."

"They must be using Draco," Narcissa stated, bluntly. "I don't know how they even learned about Celesca ... Draco never knew, or if he did he never let on to me about it. Bella was always good when it came to the Dark side of cerebral magic ... just ask your friends, the elder Longbottoms, about that. She made it a sadistic art form."

"And now she's turned her palette on her Grandniece," Hermione spat. "Bloody Draco ... why didn't I just kill him when I had the chance? Harry always said not to play with your food before you ate it ... and this is exactly why! I see that now. I was such a fool! Gah! And now this little angel is paying the price. How can it make it up to you, sweetie?"

Celesca scrunched her button nose with aching cuteness as she thought about it. "Well, Nanny Ciss says that you're going to need someone to bring you your ring at your wedding. I wanted to be a flower girl, and dress up like a big daffodil or something, but Mummy said that I was being silly and had to wear a normal dress. Which I thought was very unfair, I think. But do you think I could do that instead?"

"I can think of nobody I'd rather have as my ring-bearer," Hermione grinned, warmly. Celesca clapped her hands gleefully and beamed out a smile that seemed to produce its own light. Hermione blinked at it, then turned darkly to Narcissa. "But I am going to take care of this problem _at source_ , as it were. I'm sorry, Lady Malfoy, but Draco cannot be allowed to live. You need to make a choice ... your son ... or your Granddaughter."

"Miss Granger, my son died a long time ago," Narcissa returned, with all the coldness expected of a Malfoy. "That thing that remains in his warped body is an abhorration of the boy I bore and raised. His death will be a blessing to his immortal soul."

"Then ... you wont resent me for killing him?" Hermione asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I resent Voldemort for what he has done to my son, and so many others like him," Narcissa sighed, sadly. "But you ... I cannot resent you for what you must do. I just ask for one favour ... that you make it quick. Some part of him is still my boy ... and I hope he will remember that before the end."

"I will do as you ask, so long as you get to the bottom of whatever it is that Bella and Ginevra are up to ... and that you tell me about it as soon as you do," Hermione agreed. 

"I shall, you have my word on that," Narcissa promised. "But we need to address the business of your Acolyte induction before you go charging off into the world to find my errant son. While you were off meeting with Harry's Princes yesterday, Enola and I cast the appropriate enchantments on the ritual circle here on the grounds. We are ready to proceed whenever you are."

Hermione's eyes popped wide in shock and annoyed confusion. "But Enola said you have to use a special ritual circle in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwryndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch?"

Narcissa looked over at her and chuckled. "We call it _Llanfair P.G._ for short, you know. But well done on the pronunciation. We _could_ use that one, but it might be a bit dangerous to be out in the open and exposed for so long. Besides, Harry has created an equally powerful standing stone circle here. We can use that space just as well."

Hermione scowled crossly. "Are you _effing_ kidding me? I was up till three in the morning working on that tongue-twisting place name! Ennie said I had to perform a vocal Apparition spell just to find it!"

Narcissa laughed heartily. "I blame myself. I started that _particular_ initiation requirement as a bit of fun. It does demonstrate commitment to the cause, though, so good for you. To tell the truth, I can't even say the full name, myself!"

"Pack of bitches," Hermione complained, bitterly, scowling in her annoyance. "All that work, all that yawning, all that strong coffee ... all for nothing. Bitches ... ooh, I'll get you all back for this. You just wait and see."

"Am I a bitch, Miss Hermione?" Celesca asked, sweetly.

"No, honey, you're an angel," Hermione smiled down at her, ashamed of her gutter language. "And I'm sorry for using a naughty word. I'll go and wash my mouth out with soap and water when we're done here."

"You don't have to do that," Celesca told her. "A bitch is a girl dog, isn't it? So it's not really a rude word. Not like _bum_ , or _poo_ , or the _f-word_."

"It is the way I used it," Hermione replied "And you mustn't use it like that. Your Mummy will be very cross with you if you do, and with me for using it in front of you."

"But I don't mind being a bitch, Miss Hermione," Celesca argued, cheerily. "In fact, I think I'd quite _like_ to be one, especially if everyone else is. I think I'd quite like to be in a pack of bitches with everyone else. It sounds like fun. Besides, I like dogs, and lady dogs the best. Can you get a dog, Miss Hermione? I think you need one. I could walk it for you, if you didn't want to. We could run around in the gardens outside, and when it rains we can run all the way down the long room upstairs with all the big paintings in instead, the ones with old men and ladies in funny clothes that look down at you and tell you off from running past them. But I run so fast, Miss Hermione, that they can never finish telling me off. It's just the _best_ and funniest game! We should play it one day."

Hermione was exhausted just listening to the scheme, let alone being part of it. She turned to Narcissa, as Celesca began discussing with herself what sort of dog she'd like the best.

"So, can you set up the Acolyte induction today?"

"Yes, we have everything we need," Narcissa confirmed. "But you have to know what you're swearing into. This isn't something to enter into lightly."

Hermione scoffed. "I can only wed Harry if I'm in this Order, and his mother was in it, too. I don't need to know anything else."

"Lily Potter was the Head of this Order," said Narcissa. "When she died, I took over from her. And now, once you are Harry's wife … you will be expected to take over from me. That is the hierarchy of things."

Hermione gasped. "But I don't have the faintest clue about any of that! That's bloody unreasonable!"

"Relax, Miss Granger, I will prepare you for it," said Narcissa, calmly. "If you are willing, I can take you on as an Apprentice. I, myself, Apprenticed briefly under Lily, and also with Harry's Grandmother, who was the incumbent Head Acolyte at the time. I will pass on all the knowledge that you will need."

"Thank you," Hermione sighed. "I will definitely need some help. I feel like there's so much I don't know, about so many aspects of Harry's life."

"Just take one thing at a time," said Narcissa, gently. "The Acolytes, for example. We are the female side of the chief protectors of the Merlinic line. We have its secrets to protect, its honour to uphold. We are separate from the Knights only because of the sexual connotations of naked ritual."

Celesca threw her hands to her mouth and started giggling. "You said ' _naked_ '!"

"Yes, I did," said Narcissa, seriously. "Many of our rituals call for the participants to shed their clothes."

Celesca looked up in horror. "I'm never doing one of _those_ then! Miss Hermione's wedding wont be like that, will it?"

"No, but her Induction to our Order will," said Narcissa. "Will that be a problem for _you,_ Miss Granger?"

Hermione baulked ... then lied through her teeth. "No. But I'd better go and see Enola. I'm sure she'll have some sort of make-up to create an illusion of my being in shape. She's gifted when it comes to cosmetic magic. And I'd better clean my Ritual Robe, as I'm pretty sure it will be inappropriate to walk naked around the house. Unless that's another part of your _initiation?"_

Narcissa smirked. "No, you're quite safe from that."

"Then if I don't need to know anything else, I'll return Celesca to her mother," said Hermione.

"You go and prepare yourself for the ceremony," said Narcissa. "I will deliver my granddaughter back to her mother. There are a few private things I need to discuss with them both."

Hermione frowned. She didn't like that, but there was a finality to Narcissa's tone which suggested she would brook no opposite to her decision. So, with a little huff, Hermione agreed. Then she went to look for Enola, hoping she had a cure for nudity nerves somewhere in her make-up kit.

* * *

Hermione ground her fingers nervously as she waited. The silence of the evening air seemed to throb and hum all around her, making her irrationally anxious. She picked at the detailing on her Ritual Robe as she paced back and forth in her restlessness. What was there to be worried about? She was about to commit herself to an Order dedicated to protecting the most noble of magical family lines - _Harry's_. Then she was soon going to become _part_ of that line herself, now that all other obstacles to prevent it had been overcome. Hermione fluttered wildly at that idea. Never had her imminent union with Harry struck her so forcefully.

This moment, that she had been waiting for her whole life, both consciously and unconsciously, was finally within her grasp.

And Hermione was instantly calmed as the thought settled on her and she smiled to herself. She could almost feel Harry trying to ease her, to massage her worries and concerns in the form of Lily the Phoenix, who trilled out a lingering, soothing note from her perch nearby. Hermione closed her eyes and absorbed the relaxing power of the tremulous note. She could do this ... there was nothing to worry about.

It would have been fine, if it wasn't for the required nudity of the ritual. They'd never mentioned _this_ at Hogwarts. But then, Hermione considered, ritual magic had never made the curriculum at all. She frowned a little at that. Witches and wizards were missing out on so much without it. She pitied them a little, then got back to all this nudity business.

She smoothed her robe over her breasts and hips, considering her shape. She didn't have much to be concerned about, really. Whilst not as athletic or toned as she'd been in her swimming days, or as busty and leggy as Enola, she was still in decent trim. She didn't show it off much, but she was nicely endowed in all the right places. She made a mental note to tell Harry to build her a pool somewhere so she could get her figure back, it was about time she took herself in hand in that way.

But the biggest thing she was concerned about, the one thing no amount of exercise could do anything to improve, was her scar.

It usually stayed hidden beneath her layers of clothing, but now it would be on display. A thin, angry purple line, sickle-shaped, running down her cleavage and under her left breast. It didn't hurt, not like Harry's gaping wounds, and it wasn't even as tender as the scar tissue of the Locket-Horcrux memento on her sternum, but she'd always had an issue with it.

Ever since Antonin Dolohov had given it to her when she was just sixteen, on that fateful night searching for Harry's prophecy at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione had kept it hidden in her shame. She'd met Dolohov only once since then, during the public execution of Filius Flitwick. Dolohov had wanted to have the former Charms Master's head mounted on ebony as a trophy, his reward for subduing the legendary dueller, and Hermione had also gotten the impression that he fancied using his trademark curse on her again, just to finish the job he failed to do back at the Ministry.

Needless to say, Antonin Dolohov was still a massive bell-end.

But Hermione didn't have much time to think about that, as whooshes of Apparition suddenly began sweeping around her. Six witches were now standing opposite her, all bedecked in red-purple ritual gowns with gold tassels. Their hoods were shallow and Hermione exchanged encouraging grins with Enola and Myfanwy. It was with a pang that she noticed Angharad was not among the number, but she was thrilled to see that Luna had stepped into her place.

Then Narcissa stepped forwards.

"Miss Granger, follow me please."

Hermione obliged, trotting behind Narcissa as she led them over the rise of a small hillock, holding her robe off the ground to avoid the wet grass underfoot. Hermione had not been this far West in the grounds before and she was curious to see where they were going. And when she did, she just gasped in surprise.

For they were looking down into a shallow depression in the valley, like a sort of natural crater, brilliantly lit by a light source that Hermione couldn't detect. It was a perfect circle of lush green lawn untouched by the weathering all around it. At the centre of it was a dome-shaped earthwork mound, and atop that a row of three concentric rings of perfectly carved oblong standing stones, all crowned by heavy lintels. The monument was silvery blue in colour and each stone shone as though producing its own light. The whole place thrummed with a low vibration of energy that Hermione could feel resonating in her bones.

"Welcome to the Temple of the Moon," Narcissa announced in a low tenor. "Built out of bluestone from the same Preseli Hills that provided some of the monoliths for Stonehenge, this is where you will become a member of our Order. Please follow me." 

Narcissa flicked her wand and was suddenly carrying a ceremonial candelabra, with a single sconce at the top. She looked up, and suddenly Lily was there, hissing fire until the sconce crackled to life. Narcissa, herself, was resplendent in an ice-white and silver robe. It shone with intensity and Hermione could feel its power pulsing back at her as she ambled along in her slipstream. The runes and markings, woven in with silver thread, glinted against the light and pulsed with Narcissa's power like a strobe. She beckoned Hermione forward and she went, halting once they reached the centre of the standing stone circle.

It was dark and cool at the centre of the stone rings. The air hummed with a barely audible touch of sound, and Narcissa extended her hand to Hermione, beckoning her to stand at her side. Then Narcissa directed the other witches into a circle around them, into places marked out for the purpose of this ritual. When they were in position, evenly spaced, Narcissa carefully placed the candelabra at her feet and turned to the others.

"Witches!"

At the command, five of the other women threw their hands up to the knotted tassels at the necks of their gowns. They did it with almost military synchronicity. Luna, who was obviously new to this, swiftly followed suit. As soon as she did, a wave of low level magic swept around the circle. Narcissa then took the sconce from the candelabra, scooped the flame into the palm of her hand without it burning her, then cast it to the floor.

A ring of fire suddenly encircled them, the flames licking to knee height. Hermione felt the warmth envelop her, as well as another touch of that low intensity magic. Then Narcissa clapped her hands three times … and all the witches pulled simultaneously on their tassels, letting their robes fall to the floor. Not one of them flinched at being suddenly naked. Not even Luna. But, then again, she'd always been a little quirky that way.

Hermione couldn't help but flick her eyes at Enola, standing just to her right. And she huffed in light crossness. She'd always known it, but the girl was a fucking _goddess_. From her sleek black hair and facial beauty, down through her perfect teardrop-shaped breasts, which were even bigger than her clothing let on, to a slender waist, and hips with just enough of a womanly, sexy swell to accentuate those long, smooth legs. Hermione huffed again. This girl had had a _baby_ , and yet she looked the very flawless definition of _hot as fuck_. Hermione would definitely be picking her brains for some pointers after this.

And she decided she might start with some personal grooming on herself. Hermione's eyes flickered involuntarily to that triangle between Enola's legs. That _bare_ triangle, such as it was. It made her look neat, trim, with the tantalising tease of a tiny hint of slit above her clitoral hood. Hermione looked down at her own version, with hair as wild as that which she had on her head. It had never occurred to her to pay attention to such things during her hated marriage to Ron. She would definitely need to revisit that idea.

But, for now, Narcissa was demanding her attention.

"Miss Granger," Narcissa cajoled. "If you will."

She beckoned to her, nodding pointedly at her robe. Hermione took the cords in her hands and slowly untied them with shaky fingers. She huffed once more at her modesty, then pulled the robe from her shoulders. She caught Enola's eye, and her best friend nodded her head approvingly at Hermione's form. Pleased and emboldened, Hermione felt her shoulders relax and turned to Narcissa for the next instruction.

Then Narcissa shed her own robe. For an older witch, she was in cracking shape, too. She was also slim, and had the toned physique of a yoga master. She took Hermione by surprise as she stepped close and placed her hands on her shoulders.

"Please move to your knees for me, Miss Granger," Narcissa began.

Hermione bashfully did as she was instructed, pointedly aware that her flushed face was now level with Narcissa's naked crotch. Thankfully, Narcissa turned Hermione to face away from her.

"Witches! Let us begin," Narcissa cried. "Enola Longbottom - imbibe the circle!"

Hermione watched Enola step forward. She cupped her hands out in front of her. Suddenly, a small, domed tower materialised in her hands.

"The athanor - provider of the Secret Flame," said Enola. "I call on the Spirits of Fire to bless our purpose."

A sweep of energy thundered around the circle. Hermione felt it pulse through her body like a sonic boom.

"Alice Longbottom - imbibe the circle!" called Narcissa.

Neville's mother stepped forward. "The horn of the unicorn, a sacred creature. I call on the Spirits of the Earth to bless our purpose."

Another heady sweep of magic coated them all.

"Myfanwy Price - imbibe the circle!"

"The talons of an owl, messengers of the sky. I call on the Spirits of the Air to bless our purpose."

Cassie was called forward last. She conjured miniature waves, which hung surreally between her palms. "The swell of the raging ocean. I call on the Spirits of Water to bless our purpose."

"Thank you, ladies," said Narcissa. "I beckon the power of Arianwen Hart and Luna Lovegood to empower our circle. Witches, raise your hands."

Arianwen and Luna obeyed. Narcissa stood before Luna first, aiming her wand at her right palm.

"The Acorn - the power of Autumn," said Narcissa, conjuring the little nut with her wand. She then turned her wand to Luna's left palm. "And a head of barley, to summon the heart of Spring."

Narcissa crossed to Arianwen. "A snowflake, to call to us, the Winter, and a captured sunbeam, the energy of Summer."

The magic now became so intense that as it heaved around Hermione, she nearly fainted from the force of it. It didn't help that Narcissa was summoning the energy to her and channelling it into the space that she shared with Hermione, causing the very air to churn and swirl violently around them. It was all Hermione could do to keep herself steady.

"Hermione Jane Granger," Narcissa boomed out. "We will now begin your induction to this, our most beloved Order. Do you agree to uphold our Three Tenets?"

"I do," said Hermione.

"Do you agree to honour and protect the most noble magical family line, sired by Merlin himself?"

"I do," said Hermione. A swoosh of magic rushed up through her as the oath settled.

Narcissa reached over into the crashing waves between Cassie's palms, scooped up a double-palmful of the water there and let it cascade down onto Hermione's head.

"Do you agree to protect its secrets and never reveal them?"

"I do." Hermione blinked out more water as it crashed into her eyes. She panted hard against another powerful bolt of oath magic, gripping tightly at the sides of the stone beneath her knees.

"And do you agree to offer yourself wholly into the service of the Heir Incumbent, Harry James Potter, and obey his Lordship?"

Hermione turned her head to look up fiercely at Narcissa. "For as long as I live."

Narcissa smiled warmly at her, then dumped one last handful of the foamy water onto Hermione's now sodden, bushy crown.

"Then, by the power, and authority, bestowed upon me by Harry James Potter, our Lord and Master, I now induct you, Hermione Jane Granger, into the Order of Merlin, Acolyte Class. May you cherish your sistership, and serve the Order with honour and dignity, for the rest of your natural life. When the time is right, you will give to us your menstrual blood, then your covenant with us will be sealed forever. But, for now … Arise, Lady Hermione, Our Sister."

"Our sister!" the other witches chorused, as Narcissa stepped close and clasped a shining silver bracelet to Hermione's left wrist. It locked with a little click and Hermione felt all that magic in the circle swirl and congeal ... then flow directly into her body. She felt thoroughly invigorated by it.

Hermione stood slowly. Her knees were trembling, the residual magic still tingling all through her. She looked nervously around the circle. Each witch bowed their head to her in a gesture of salute, and she returned each nod with a goofy sort of grin. She felt the oaths and vows settle on her like a gentle mist. And she could feel a new level of connection joining her to them all, and an intense new power, as though she were now part of something visceral and much bigger than herself. It was intoxicating.

Narcissa clapped her hands once again and the flames died away. Hermione, shivering against the cold, was glad of Enola and Luna, who hurried up to her and re-robed her.

"See? Told you it wasn't that bad," Enola grinned.

"That was intense," Luna added, nodding appraisingly. "I think, when I'm a bit stronger, I might want to join this Order, if you'll let me."

"Of course I will!" Hermione smiled, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "Look, you girls are not friends anymore ... you are my sisters, now ... and as dear to me as real sisters could ever be."

"Well come then, Sister," Enola grinned, curling her arm into Hermione's. "Let's get you back to the house. We have a surprise waiting for you."

"A surprise? What for?" Hermione queried.

"We've organised a little party, a joint celebration," Enola went on. "You are now an Acolyte, a member of the Order of Merlin ... and it is also your birthday! Did you think we'd forgotten?"

Hermione gasped. Was it really her birthday? It must have been, it was around the right time of year. She blinked in her astonishment. "To be honest, _I'd_ forgotten! I hope you haven't gone to too much trouble."

"We haven't done anything," Luna grinned. "But Harry and Cesc have been beavering away all evening in the kitchen, baking you a cake. I wouldn't hold out much hope, as Cesc prefers to eat food rather than make it, but let's go and see how they got on!" 


	39. Permission Granted

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

As birthday parties went, Hermione couldn't remember a more enjoyable one.

As soon as she arrived back at the Palace, as a newly inducted Acolyte of the Order of Merlin, Sally and Enola whipped her up straight up to her bedroom, forced her into a bluebell-blue dress that was far too clingy around the hips, arranged her hair so that it hung elegantly like a smoky frame to her face, then marched her back downstairs to be the lady of the hour. Even though she wasn't normally one to be the centre of attention, she gave to it this time, allowing herself to be fawned over by well wishers, as Sue and Luna pressed glasses of chilled white wine into her hands. It was good to see Sue down and amongst people, as she tended to lock herself in her tower room like a princess imprisoned in a fairytale and rarely ventured around the house.

The lure of copious amounts of alcohol was too great an inducement to resist, it would seem.

Then there was Harry and Celesca's cake which, to everyone's surprise, turned out to be quite the impressive thing. It was a three-tiered sponge with vanilla buttercream, lemon zest icing and fresh strawberries, that Celesca had spent most of the afternoon painstakingly collecting from the fruit plantations on the grounds. She told them all about how the bees kept coming to see what she was up to, and how she had to make up a song to keep them entertained. She couldn't remember all the words, or what the tune really went like, but she tried her best to sing it for them anyway, though in the end she pretty much made up a new song, as she was sure the original never had wooden pegs with stubby legs in it.

There was dancing and music and a large buffet to get through, but Hermione's favourite bit was Harry coming back from the kitchens with a clay ornament he'd made in the shape of a cupcake. Hermione couldn't stop laughing at the apron that Enola had bought for Harry to wear, as it bore the apt slogan - _Why have a House-elf, when you can have a House-Husband!_ , which Hermione promptly decided would be next year's birthday present from her husband-to-be. But the cutest aspect of the ornament was the single candle that flickered and jumped from the middle of it.

"I've put an Everlasting Flame Charm on it," Harry whispered as he gave it to her. "So, like my love for you, this will never go out."

Hermione was sure a part of her insides melted at that. She wondered which bit it was and hoped that the effect wasn't life-threatening .... because, a few hours later, Harry gave her a hint of her life to come, one that made her even more eager to live it than ever.

For in the evening, when everyone headed up to bed, Hermione was deeply astonished to find Harry following her into _her_ bed, where they engaged in the most passionate kissing session they had ever shared, even going as far as stripping down into just their underwear and grinding together in such a close approximation of full-on love making that Hermione ended it with a throaty, shaky, unexpected whimper that alarmed Harry a moment.

He brightened up quickly though, as Hermione explained that it was just one of the sounds she made when she had an orgasm, which she was breathtakingly astonished to discover that Harry was able to bring out in her without really doing much at all. She couldn't wrap her head around what it would be like when Harry was actually _trying_ to achieve that. It was enough to threaten her head to fall off.

Their wedding promised much, and Harry grinned smugly to himself as he basked in this new-found talent he had discovered to give Hermione pleasure. Well, in truth, it was giving _him_ pleasure, as making Hermione happy was the thing he liked to do the best and most often. That's why such meticulous planning had gone into the marital chamber for the wedding night, with Harry pinning his hopes on blowing Hermione's mind so much that she might finally forgive him for ever failing her, in all the other ways he was still niggled at that he had.

Harry just hoped that his mother would look away as he made love to his new wife for the first time, and as for his _father_ ... well, he had a _lot_ of explaining to do.

* * *

The next morning, just after dawn, Harry rose while the house was still asleep and moved into the cool of the sub-levels of the Palace. There was no sound down here, it was all as it should be. That wasn't surprising, as the magic of the Palace was more focused here than anywhere else on the property. Every time Harry opened the door he was hit with a little puff of energetically charged magical force. He always likened it to what he expected would happen when the space shuttle docked at the international space station ... a transfer of air, a sharing of light and freshness

Only _this_ one took his breath away.

Harry closed the door and leant against the frame, absorbing the power swirling all around him. It came to him in a way it did to no-one else, almost like a pet rushing to greet its returning master. It had a similar sort of feel, somehow comforting and welcoming. Harry wondered if Hermione would feel it when she next came down here.

For this was _Potter_ family magic … from Merlin through Godric Gryffindor right to Harry himself. And soon it would flow to Hermione, when she became Hermione Potter ... his Queen, his _wife._

Harry fluttered crazily at the mere thought, from his stomach right up in to his throat. Seriously, he had to stop thrilling at this. He'd done it ... somehow, however bizarrely, he'd done it. He'd achieved the main thing he had returned from the dead to do. Hermione was really going to be his wife, and she would be that for every day for as long as he lived. Was he going to go this wildly delirious every single time he thought about it? Actually, he rather hoped that he _would_. If it was that easy to become so happy, who was he to fight it? He felt the urge to run and jump and cry out like an excited child. He looked around mischievously. No-one would see him if he _did_ … not down here.

So he did. Just a little ... and it felt great to do it.

Then he fixed his mood back to where he needed it. Flicked that little switch in his mind to _Royally Pissed Off_. It wasn't hard. He just flirted with some of the revelations he and Narcissa had been discussing over the last few days, the confirmation of a side of Hermione that Harry had only ever cautiously hoped for, but that now seemed he had been right about all along. He wanted to be thrilled at it, to cry out in his euphoria ... but he was so angry that he hadn't been told about it right away, by the people he was certain would have known about it, that he had to check himself. They had known, and risked her by allowing her to suffer ... they had almost cost Harry his White Queen.

And if anything terminal had been inflicted on her, Harry wasn't sure he had it in him to forgive such a transgression ... not even for his _parents_. 

Harry shook that thought off, quite literally. His body shivered unpleasantly as the possibility touched at the corners of his mind, but he didn't let it go completely. It would be useful for fuelling his intent. After all, he was down here to be cross, to hand out a serious reprimand, albeit to two people he loved so very dearly, and that would take serious ire to keep going. But he needed to do it, to get it off his mind before it festered. He needed to vent _badly_.

And for that, he needed to go right to the _third_ sub-level.

Harry checked behind himself twice out of habit, as he reached the suit of armour at the end of last corridor on Sub-Level Two. It had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor and the breastplate was bedecked in the Gryffindor lion, resplendent in red and gold. Harry smoothed it fondly, remembering happier times. Then he grinned.

Happier times? When had that been? When had he been happier than now? _Had_ he ever been happier than now? He knew instantly that he hadn't. Yeah, he had an ugly scar and lots of people were trying to kill him, but there was nothing new about that. It wasn't so bad now, not when he had his impending marriage to Hermione as a counter-balance.

She was going to be his wife ... she really, _really_ was! It was truly the most amazing thing.

The wine cellar was next to the suit of armour and the door was open. Harry glanced inside as he passed, noting that it was only half full after the party last night. Harry smiled fondly as he remembered it, pleased with himself that his soppy cupcake ornament gift had gone down so well. That was an easy win. But he pushed all these happy thoughts aside with a slight frown. He was getting more and more of these kinds of notions .... and he wasn't sure if he liked them or not. It was dangerously close to being like _normal,_ and that was just all kinds of weird in Harry Potter's world. But he couldn't help it. They were just suddenly there, and he couldn't stop them with any power he possessed. He pondered that as he opened the suit of armour and sealed himself inside it.

The suit span around immediately, as soon as Harry closed the clasp. It clanked to a shuddering halt a second or two later. Dizzied by the movement, Harry stepped out into the pitch darkness of a new and bitterly cold corridor. He waved his hand, magic erupted from his family ring, and flaming sconces were soon crackling merrily along the roughly hewn brackets set high into the walls. Harry let their warmth wash over him as he walked along, intermittently disappearing in and out of sight as he passed through the flickering pools of orange light cast down to the dark-tiled floor.

Harry quested for the door at the far end of the corridor. He resisted the urge to peek into his money vault, which was next to it. Sometimes, he just liked to stare at all the piles of his gold .... of what he would happily soon be able to call _his and Hermione's_ gold. He couldn't wait for her to start enjoying it. She'd been so energised, so excited at the prospect of owning all the Welsh castles, that Harry couldn't imagine what she would do with the possibilities that being so rich would throw up for her, for all the good causes she could pursue with it … he just wanted to indulge her passions as soon as he could. He literally felt there was nothing he'd not do, no amount he'd not spend - if that's what it took - if his reward would just be to see her happy. He was ashamed of his own take on the cash. He was just content to horde it, watch it all pile up.

And the pile was _significant_ now.

When he'd been feeling delinquently indulgent one time, Harry had even tried _swimming_ in it. But it had proved to be rather impractical. Which was a pity, as he'd put on a bathing costume and a snorkel and everything. Rhian had given him some _very_ peculiar looks when she'd caught him coming out of the vault dressed like that…

Harry laughed to himself at the memory. He might as well just give in... he was happy today. What was the point in pretending otherwise? He didn't want to be just now, not for what he had to do, but Hermione just had this special magic about her. It was one of the most potent forces ever discovered by humankind. Maybe she could write a textbook about it, petition for it to be added to the curriculum at Hogwarts once everything was back to normal ... for it was a sort of sorcery worth studying in Harry's view.

For it was the magic to make Harry Potter _smile_. Even with a half a mouth, a mouth usually twisted into a permanent sneer by Tom Riddle's last curse on him, it worked ... even when the witch, herself, wasn't around him to make it happen. What sort of defence could anyone hope to have against _that_ sort of power?

Harry allowed his grin to remain plastered to his face as he entered the last room on the floor. The space was a perfect circle, much smaller than the Ritual Room directly above it, and much calmer in energy. For this was for a purpose far more intimate than ritual of that sort. The room was brightly lit from a point high in the ceiling. Harry had never found the source of the light ... it was just … _there_. It shone down brilliantly onto a large bluestone standing stone at the centre of the circle, drenching it in a beam of the fiercest white glow. It had been placed there by Merlin himself, to allow him to commune with the other wizards and his giants, when they were building his great ritual circle at Stonehenge ... the single most powerful monolithic stone circle for ritual magic ever built anywhere in the known world or beyond.

And now, Harry Potter used it to commune with his deceased parents.

Harry touched his hand to the cool stone and closed his eyes. "I know you're there, Dad ... so there's no point in hiding."

James Potter stepped into full view, as calmly and easily as if he had just followed Harry through the door from the corridor outside. Harry didn't catch quite from where he had emerged. He might have popped out from _inside_ the stone for all Harry was aware. It didn't much matter ... Harry was there with his father, and that was all that counted.

"How did you know?" asked James, grinning widely. "I thought I was getting very good at being invisible. Sirius has been giving me some pointers."

Harry narrowed his eyes at his father. Every time he saw him, he was bizarrely a little glad of his scar to tell the truth ... for it was like looking at himself in the future, older and greyer, like some sort of reverse echo. It was very odd.

"Is Sirius here?" asked Harry.

"No, he's off womanising somewhere," James smirked. "There are a _lot_ of pretty spirit ladies in the afterlife, you know ... and all the time in eternity to try and charm your way into their favour. Your mother will be along in a minute though. She's rather hoping she might get to have a girly natter with her future _daughter-in-law_ …"

James looked over Harry's head, as though expecting to see Hermione shrouded behind him somehow. Harry let himself thrill at the thought of their impending union again a moment, before turning on his father with an angry frown. _There_ was the old him. Finally …

"No, my future _wife_ wont be coming today," said Harry, his fury flickering. "A _White Queen_ needs to prepare for her wedding, after all …"

"Ahh," said James, sheepishly. "So that's what you've come to see me about …"

"Yes, God dammit!" Harry thundered, all his anger erupting in one go, causing the walls to shake violently a moment. "You _knew!_ You knew what Hermione was to me all along! And you didn't tell me!"

"Harry … son …"

"Don't try and pacify me with your pathetic excuse!" Harry roared furiously, cutting his father off. "All that preparation, all that ritual, all that bullshit _allegory!_ And you knew about her all the time. Why, Dad? Just give me one, decent reason why you didn't tell me everything ... before I really lose my temper."

"You know why," James tried vainly. "That isn't how it ..."

"To _fuck_ with how it works!" Harry shrieked, stepping right up into his father's personal space. "She could have been _killed,_ Dad! You don't fuck around with that … not with _her_ … not with her fucking _life_ ... not for any of this crap!"

"Watch your language, Harry, your mother is listening," said James, sternly.

" _Fuck you_ , Dad! Fuck Mum, too, if she knew about this as well," Harry spat. He pushed aside a jolt of gut-churning guilt at his own outburst, and continued on. "You should have told me. I should have known from the very start ... and I don't care what you have to say about it."

"Could you have protected her, if we'd told you right away? Could you have found her? Did you have the strength to keep her safe?" James returned, evenly. Harry paused, riling as much against the truth as he was against his father now. "Harry … you _totally_ accepted that you were in love with Hermione, as soon as your mother pointed out that little fact to you. It was like awakening a truth that you had always known and you were frantic to find Hermione, to make her yours just to make up for lost time for that reason alone. It was only because you were so wounded that you weren't able to charge right out into the world to find her right away. 

"But can you imagine how much worse you would have been, if we'd told you everything else we suspected about her? Harry, we had only just become sure about _you_ ... and yes, we heavily suspected that Hermione was destined to be your White Queen, but neither of you were quite at that stage yet. And do you think you were in any state to find her, to tell her everything, and fulfil the many destinies that you share together? You remember what you were like for those first few months … after you _woke up."_

Harry huffed and rested against the standing stone in defeat. "Yeah. I was complete trainwreck."

"Exactly, and one of _undirected_ rage to boot," James corrected. "Harry, you couldn't have helped her back then, no matter how angry you are about it. In that state, you were as likely to _hurt_ Hermione as you were to help her."

"She was hurt enough," said Harry, darkly.

"That wasn't your fault," said James, consolingly. "None of us suspected the way that the Weasleys would descend into such ugliness. But, in any case, we didn't tell _you_ that you were a Red King until we thought you were ready. Hermione wasn't ready to be your Queen then, either. She has had to develop into the role for herself."

"I don't think getting _raped_ and battered counts as development!" Harry yelled, fresh anger bursting free from him in a spear of unrestrained magic. James caught it with a lazy hand and let it dissipate into the stone, which shone green as it absorbed Harry's rabid emotion.

"That wasn't what I meant, and you know it," said James, patiently.

"Then explain what you did mean, Dad!" Harry hissed, his rage still flaring. "Because to _me_ it sounds like you're saying you let me leave Hermione, the love of my life, my _soul mate_ , to the twisted whims of Ronald fucking Weasley … for her own _good_."

"I didn't mean that," James argued. "We all have to live with the horrific knowledge of what has happened to your wonderful witch, even those of us that are already dead. Maybe we'll never forgive ourselves for what happened to her, and maybe we shouldn't be allowed to. _But_ … Hermione survived, she became infinitely stronger. I don't know if you've noticed, Harry, but she's tough as treated dragonhide. She's more than a match for _you._ "

"No, you're wrong," Harry volleyed back. "She's the _perfect_ match for me … and it's the rest of the world that doesn't measure up … to _us_."

James chanced a warm smile. "Well, at least on _that_ we can all agree."

Harry grinned back, then roared in his frustration at being so easily stilled and began to pace restlessly.

"All I meant, son," James persisted again. "Is that Hermione has had to endure, as you did. Stepping into the roles you have _requires_ a bit of that. Merlin, had it not had to be so horrific! But they are the times we are in. And look at the reward … for the both of you. I mean, have you seen how deliriously _happy_ Hermione is now? All that joy, son … that's all down to _you_. And you have a lifetime of that to share now ... and more after that."

Harry's heart leapt to life, racing fast, his breath catching in his lungs as James' words rang poignantly in his ears. Harry calmed himself ... wasn't going to cry, not in front of his Dad.

Which was just singularly dumb … because _James_ was tearing up, himself.

"Sometimes - and this is a tough lesson, Harry - but you've got to lose every now and then … just so you can know how to _win_."

And Harry's tears came against his will. For he had _won_. The whole story could stop right now, and Harry would have claimed victory against life, and the powers that, for so long, seemed to have ranged against him. And against Hermione, too. Dumb, stupid bastards ... he would have his brutal day against the whole twatting lot of them.

And the universe, itself, would rue the day it made enemies out of Harry and Hermione Potter.

"I just don't understand why you had to make it so hard … for _her,_ " Harry protested lowly, drying his eye with his shawl. "Put me through the trauma, fine … but not _her._ There's no way you can make that right."

"There are a few people who made it all so horrendous," said James. "Tom Riddle for targeting you and killing your mother and I, Albus Dumbledore for going senile at the wrong time, Ron Weasley … for being the country's worst ever ginger ... take your pick."

"I pick them _all,_ " Harry stabbed, his tone dangerously vicious. "And I intend to _pick them off_ … one at a time. But you could have given me a hint, a clue, _anything_. It took three years for me to learn what she was suffering under. You must have known about it. You could have pointed me in the direction sooner, that's what I'm most mad about. You could have let me poison Ron, have him killed by a rogue assassin. I have lots of contacts, lots of ways, you know that. I just don't understand why you didn't."

"You will," said James gently, taking a step towards Harry's riling form. "I couldn't tell you, and neither could your mother. We are your parents, but you are also our Alchemy Adept. Telling you straight up isn't how it works. You'll know one day, you'll understand … when you and Hermione do this for a _son_ of your own …"

Harry stilled in spite of himself, breathing hard. His father's words hung weighty between them ... that statement wasn't vague or ephemeral … it was like he _knew._

"W-what are you talking about?" Harry stuttered out.

James smiled at him. "I'm talking about my _grandson,_ Harry. I'm not going to tell you when, I'm not going to tell you how … well, I assume you know _how_ … you certainly have a firm idea abouthow … that's some wedding night plan you have in the works …"

Harry blushed. "Thanks. But I hope you don't intend to watch that ... do you?"

"That's a rather disturbing idea," James grimaced. "No, we won't watch. They lock you up for that kind of thing, even in the afterlife. But we will probably _feel_ it. I wonder how much of the Palace will be left after you're done?"

Harry grinned, nervously. "I'm still working on reinforcing the weaker areas of the stonework. That old chapel under the kitchen might not stand up to vigorous shaking!"

"I'll teach you some _proper_ wards for that sort of stuff later," said James offhandedly. "Yours look a little bit pathetic, to be honest. The ones me and your mum had to put up at Hogwarts …"

"Dad."

"What you _really_ need is some yew bark," James ploughed on, thoughtfully. "There are some trees on the grounds somewhere, if I remember rightly. Yew deflects magic _back,_ rather than trying to absorb it, making it a great defensive material against average-level spellwork. Sirius built your Mum and I a sort of palisade wall that we could concertina down and carry around with us. I'll get him to send you the schematics. _Very_ handy for camping, or if you just fancy a roll around at the side of a motorway or something. Your Mum was _big_ into powerful Muggle cars … Hermione is Muggleborn, maybe it's a kinky thing for Muggle girls or something, you'll have to ask her … long-distance driving with your Mum was often an interesting experience …"

"Dad. Enough, please."

"And this one time, at Lily's parent's house, we snuck into the attic at Christmas. There was this thing your Mum liked to do, see, where she'd hang me upside down from the trapdoor and -"

"Dad, stop, seriously!" Harry pleaded. "Before you scar me with something worse than what I've already got! Something that can _never_ be fixed!"

"Oh, right. Yeah ... sorry," said James, grinning wickedly. "I'm sorry, Harry. I suppose I'm just in an excitable mood. My _son_ is getting married! I'm just letting off steam in my happiness!"

Harry huffed. He was trying so hard to be cross ... but every single mention of Hermione, or of their marriage, was likely to render him inert.

"It's fine, Dad," said Harry. "I'm excited, too. Even more so _now._ So … a _son_ … you were saying?"

"And that was _far_ more than he should have said. Now come here and give me a hug."

Harry span, and found himself face-to-face with his mother, striding across the room to meet him. He closed the gap between them, then closed his arms around _her,_ squeezing her tight. Harry never quite knew how to describe his parents in this form. They were dead, so they were spirits, but they were also _solid_. Harry could hug them and touch them and things. It was bizarre but, just like the source of the light in the room, he just accepted it without question. It just _was_.

"Congratulations, darling," said Lily, hugging Harry close. "I'm so happy for you ... for the _both_ of you. Oh, I just knew how it would be! I know you're angry with us ... and you have every right to be ... but you should have brought Hermione with you. I really wanted to see her. When we apologise for this, I want her to be with you, so we can beg for forgiveness from _Mrs Potter_ , as well as you."

"I'll let you do that, Mum, I promise," said Harry, stepping free from Lily's death grip on him. "But after the wedding would be best. Hermione is bathing now, resting. It's been a long few days for her and she needs to recover her strength before we jump into the alchemical ritual. That will take a load out of us both. Besides, she doesn't know about this place yet ... and I'm worried, when she does, that she'll think she can contact _any_ spirit down here right away, once she sees you two."

Lily looked at Harry with sad eyes. "Yes, you're probably right about that. But, in about a year or so, Hermione's parents should be strong enough to come along with us."

"How … how are they?" Harry asked tentatively.

James sighed. "It's a slow recovery, son. It's going to take a hell of lot of effort and energy to repair the damage to them. It was a new form of magical torture they endured, so the treatment needs to be new, too. Just give it time … and for Merlin's sake stop _blaming yourself_ for it. Hermione has such a job on her hands with you. I don't envy the girl."

"Hermione will be furious about this when she finally finds out," said Harry, ruefully. "I can't even _begin_ to imagine how cross she'll be with me, for not telling her. It'll be worse than I am with you pair. I'm still not going to, though ... she has enough hate for the Weasleys as it is."

"You're a braver man than me, son," James chuckled. "Your Hermione is a lovely witch but, wow … she has a hell of a temper on her when she gets going!"

"It's not just that, Dad, it's the _creativity,_ " Harry laughed. "It's bloody _frightening._ She said she's going to create a tartan beret out of Ron's _scalp_ , once she flays it off, as a sort of memorial to Minerva McGonagall! I fell in love with her a little more when she said that!"

Lily joined in with their laughter. "Merlin knows what she'll do with the rest of him, then, once she finds out what he and Ginny did to David and Catrin's souls."

Just then, a disembodied head popped out of the standing stone. A long grey, beard trailed to the ground, just below the most mischievous smile Harry thought existed.

"I do know ... and I could tell you, if you like," said the head, cheerfully.

"Fuck off, Merlin, this is parent and child time," James chided.

"Don't forget, you are _all_ my children," said Merlin, his eyes twinkling. "Considering I _sired_ the bloody lot of you. Morning, Harry!"

"'Lo, Merlin," said Harry, rolling his eye. He was the _worst_ eavesdropper of all his ancestors and dead relatives, not to mention the most playful rascal of all of the family line.

"When are you going to bring that delightful witch of yours to meet me?" asked Merlin, stepping fully into the room now, dropping all pretence that he ever intended to do anything else. "She will be the most powerful new witch to join the family in _centuries._ I have a bet with Godric that she will eventually replace Rowena as my personal favourite."

Harry chuckled. "Have you told _Rowena_ that?"

"Oh … well, _me_ no!" Merlin chortled. "Who _am_ I supposed to swear to, anyway? All day long all I hear _Merlin this_ and _Merlin that_ … hmm. Anyway, back to Rowena. She'd roast me for even suggesting it, young Harry. We have yet to have a death in the afterlife in, ooh, the entire of history recorded and unrecorded. I'm sure Rowena would find a way, though. She's very clever."

"Tell her to work at it," Harry grinned. "I'll be sending you what I leave intact of Tom Riddle very soon. I don't intent to spend my _own_ afterlife finding a way to make him extinct."

"I shall pass on the message," said Merlin, chuckling. "She always did like a challenge."

"Well, she did marry Godric in life," said Harry, fairly. "She'd be tested for latent insanity for that sort of decision in this day and age. Remember when he tried challenging Yahweh to be the God of Christianity through a series of contests?"

"Ah yes," Merlin, grinned, his eyes alight. "Godric lost at Cludeo, snakes 'n' ladders and Bucakroo ... but it wasn't until Yahweh built hotels on all his squares in Monoploy that he finally gave it up as a hopeless quest!"

"See? Absolute loony!" Harry laughed. "What was Rowena thinking, marrying him?"

Merlin stroked his beard as he pondered it. "Who could say? But perhaps that explains all the time she's spending with Mr Freud this last decade or so. I did wonder."

"Right, that's enough," said Lily, crossly. "Merlin … fuck off."

"Well said, dear," James nodded approvingly. "Can we just have some time with our son?"

Merlin sighed. "Harry is a son belonging to all of us. But, I shall leave his _biological_ parents to him for now. Are we still up for game night, later? I understand Minerva has found a date for Couples Twister."

Harry rolled his eye again. Bloody dead people ... they _loved_ their toys.

Merlin disappeared back through the standing stone, throwing Harry a cheery wave over his shoulder as he went.

"Where the hell were we?" asked James. "Bloody Merlin. You have all the joys of this to come, son."

Harry chortled. "You were saying about Hermione's Mum and Dad."

"Ah yes," said Lily. "It's going to be a while before they have strength enough to meet her again. They are very poorly."

"A year or so, you said?" asked Harry. Lily nodded. "Okay. But there's no use _H_ _ermione_ knowing that. She'll be counting the days."

"Or she'll make a little chart," James quipped, perching on a low bench that had suddenly appeared next to him. "She seems to have charts for everything. Speaking of which … when are you going to tell her about _yours_?"

"Not now, Dad," Harry snapped. "Today is about _your_ secrets, not mine."

"You can't keep this from her, Harry," said Lily gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "She'll find out one way or another."

"And if you think she'll be cross with you for not telling her about Ron, Ginny and her parents … just think about how she'll respond knowing about _that,_ " James added.

Harry huffed. "The Alchemy Link will tell her, won't it ... when we forge it? That's what you're telling me? Seriously, you should have told me about this. I could have prepared in a totally different way."

"Prepared for what, son?" James quipped, lightly. "You are being spectacularly _dim_ about all of this."

"When you complete your alchemical Opus with your marriage, you will be joining with Hermione in the most complete way ... in mind, body and soul," Lily reminded him. "And it will be the most fundamentally beautiful thing when it happens. There isn't _anything_ that you wont share after that."

"I still don't think it's fair ... that she will be able to _hear my thoughts_ ," Harry huffed. "But I wont be able to hear hers. Seems a little one sided, if you ask me."

"It's because she is the Mind aspect of this union, son," James explained. "And, to begin with at least, she will be more adept at those sorts of abilities. Hermione's thoughts will be in your head somewhere once your chemical wedding is complete ... but good luck _finding_ them in that collision of chaos that you pass for a mind!"

Harry guffawed. "Can I be fixed in that way, then? Will I be able to keep little secrets from her ... or do I just have to go around thinking about books at Christmas, when in fact I've bought her a big fat diamond?"

Lily laughed at that one. "You will be able _feel_ Hermione, being the Heart Aspect as you are," Lily replied. "And, in many ways, that will give you greater insight than mere thought."

"What do mean ' _I'll feel her'_?" Harry queried. "I suppose you aren't talking about something physical here?" 

Lily shook her head. "No, Harry, this is feeling ... not _touching._ You will sense Hermione's feelings, along with your own … you will feel her intent and emotions inside your own body. That's what your joining will give to you."

"Oh yeah, I can definitely live with _that,_ " Harry grinned. "But it wont be nearly as accurate, will it? I mean, if I thought things, she could recite them, couldn't she? Even if I went random as hell and thought nonsense sentences ... like _nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak_ , that sort of thing ... she'd be able to get it spot on. I might be able to feel her, but it wont be anything like as precise."

"Perhaps, but practically impossible to _fake,"_ Lily pointed out with a smile. "You can think what you like, and Hermione will read it. But she can't pretend to _feel_ something for you that she doesn't. Personally, I'd prefer your side of it. But I'm just a bit of an old romantic like that."

Harry grinned to himself. He hadn't thought of it like _that ..._ the idea warmed his chest as it settled on him.

"Okay. I like that. But what about the rest of me … _can_ I be fixed when all this is completed? I thought you said, once Hermione and I were married, that we'd have a _special new magic_ ..."

"We can't tell you all the answers, that isn't how it works," James reminded him again, slicing him off abruptly. "Being an Alchemical Adept is to embark upon a journey to knowledge and enlightenment ... and now you have a perfect partner to take it with. The journey could take you your entire life and you still might not reach the ultimate end. If there are answers to your questions, you and Hermione will find them together."

"How far does that go, though?" asked Harry, frowning crossly. "It sounds either too vague or too evasive, like most alchemical language, to be honest."

Lily smiled at him. "Harry, you are a Red King ... Hermione, your White Queen. Yours will be the most complete and pure wedded ordination that nature can provide. There isn't any question that you wont be able to answer or problem you could not solve. If you set your _heart_ to it, and she puts her _mind_ to it, the solution to any issue will come to you eventually. And if fixing all your scars is what you choose to tackle, you will find a way to overcome it."

"Or if we need to know how to defeat Riddle," said Harry, thoughtfully.

"Harry, you _already_ know how to do that," said James, dismissively. "But you need to tell Hermione about it, confirm your suspicions about these Horcrux protections and bring her in to help you work out the fine details. You _have_ to let her help ... trust us, it'll make the whole thing ten times easier and faster."

"And Harry," said Lily, coming forward and taking Harry's hand, looking at him seriously. "Let Hermione do the things that you can't ... especially where your _extended family_ is concerned. Just hand her the responsibility and accept the concession. She's proven that she can handle the moral ambiguities of this fight. She'll do whatever it takes … if it will keep you safe."

"Riddle has made another fundamental mistake here," said James, standing and taking over. "You know it, _Hermione_ knows it on some level, too - though she doesn't want it to be true - and you have a real shot at making it Riddle's last screw-up. Don't let him get away this time … not now that you have him where you want him."

Harry sighed heavily. "Okay. It won't be easy for me, you know that. You could have made this all so much easier, if you'd just _told_ me from the start."

"And where would have been the fun in _that_?" James teased on reflex. Harry scowled at him. He didn't think exposing Hermione to four years of solid abuse and threats to her life on a daily basis was any idea of _fun_. Not in the slightest. He didn't need words to tell his father that, as James looked back at him in morbid horror. "Sorry, Harry ... I really am."

"You can tell Hermione that," said Harry, grimly. "You can explain everything to her ... and if _she_ doesn't forgive you, neither will I. I will leave the choice to my wife."

"That's fair enough," said Lily, her voice anxious and shaky. "But, Harry, in all seriousness … keep an eye on Hermione with little Celesca Lovegood, wont you? I'm not sure if some of these wild thoughts she has concerning the girl are all that speculative!"

Harry chuckled at that. "I'll try. So, I suppose there is only one thing left to do ...

Harry dropped to one knee and placed his wand to his chest.

"As a Red King of Alchemy, I formally ask you ... my parents, and Alchemical Mentors ... for your permission to marry my White Queen, Hermione. Do I have your blessing?"

Lily smiled down tearily at her son, as she and James placed hands on Harry's shoulders. "We give it with all our hearts!"

Harry felt the warmth of the oath flood into his system. It was heady, powerful stuff, and he was thankful for the hands on his back to hold him upright. After a protracted minute, Harry mastered himself and stood, accepting hugs from each of his parents in turn.

"Thank you, Mum, and you Dad," Harry grinned widely at them both. "Right, I'd better be going ... lots to do, you know ... free the world, have a bath, plan a wedding to my princess. It's all go in my life these days! Oh ... is there anyone you don't want to be sat with at the ceremony? I assume you'll be there."

"Of course we will," James beamed. "Just stick us far away from Merlin, I don't think I can stand listening to him babble on about how he created alchemy, or his other assorted embellishments!"

"Okay, a seat next to Merlin it is!" Harry funned. "It's the least you deserve. I'll give you a heads-up when we set a date ... and tell Sirius to find a respectable date or he wont be invited at all!"

* * *

 _**Enjoying this story? Check out some of the** _ _**others in my portfolio, or better still, take a look at my original novel, currently available on Kindle! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales. Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!** _


	40. The Chemical Wedding

****

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. **Serious symbolic literary and spiritual alchemy coming up, if you don't understand it all, don't worry. Not all of us are able to.**

* * *

“We’ve set a date!” Hermione announced to the Breakfast Parlour as she breezed into it. “And I’m a little bit terrified about it!”

Almost all the witches of the Palace were taking breakfast together that morning, even Sue, who seemed to be much more at ease with everyone since Hermione’s birthday party. Hermione was glad of the large numbers, for she felt she needed as many sources of support as possible to offset her unexpected anxiety.

“Pre-wedding nerves are natural,” Enola chimed. “So when’s the big day?”

Hermione whimpered. “September the twenty-third.”

“The Autumnal Equinox,” Arianwen nodded as she poured Hermione a large cup of Earl Grey. “Harry always did have a good head for symbolism and natural power summoning.”

“The twenty-third?” Enola frowned. “But, Min, that means your big day is … that it’s … that’s _Wednesday!”_

“I know!” Hermione mumbled. “Wednesday. Three days away. I’m getting married to Harry in three days … and the ceremony sounds so complex I have no idea how I’m supposed to get ready in time. I’m scared I’m going to get this all wrong!”

“The first thing you need to do is relax,” Sue cooed to her, coming over and offering a biscuit. “You’ve got all us girls with you to help with it, whatever it is. So stop worrying … you aren’t alone in this.”

Hermione smiled weakly in her thanks and nibbled on the biscuit.

“Well said,” Cassie cried, inclining her coffee cup to Sue. “It’s a good point though … why is it just us girls? Where are all the men-folk today?”

“They are out in the grounds, working on Harry’s latest building project,” Alice Longbottom replied. She was feeding baby Alison, who gurgled as her contribution to the conversation. “Apparently, it’s very much an all-hands-on-deck kind of construction.”

“What’s he building now?” asked Myfanwy.

“And why is he doing it three days before his wedding?” Enola frowned.

“It’s because it is _for_ the wedding,” Alice explained. “Neville was discussing it with Frank this morning, when they were looking over the design plans. He and Harry were up late into the night assessing the Ritual Chamber and Harry’s Alchemy Cell, eventually deciding that neither one was powerful enough for this sort of wedding ceremony. So Harry spent the rest of the night perfecting plans he had been working on for a new one, then began construction as soon as there was light to work by. I have a feeling he used his time-turner extensively to get it right, because he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, Nev told me.”

“This is exactly what I mean!” Hermione squeaked, pulling on her hair in her anxiety. “All this effort, all these arcane enchantments … I’m not anything like ready enough to be a part of all this.”

“Of course you are,” Arianwen told her, sagely. “Harry wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t think you were. So you need to get rid of that doubt at the very least.”

Hermione was stilled a little by that. “Do you know much about this, Mrs Hart? About alchemical rituals?”

“I know that they are dripping in symbolism and ceremony,” Arianwen replied. “My late husband was part of Freemasonry and alchemy is a central component of some of _their_ rituals. So my knowledge about it comes from there.”

“Anything you can tell me will help,” Hermione begged, sitting on a footstool near to Enola’s mother. “Harry has told me I need to prepare myself … but I have no idea how.”

“First of all … what role are you?” Arianwen quirked. “Red or white?”

“Harry calls me his _White Queen_ ,” Hermione blushed in reply. “Does that help?”

Arianwen nodded and closed her eyes. “That makes sense … I should have known, really. You are clever and love books … so clearly marked as _Mind_ … which is the part you will bring to the union. But we need to look at your other markers. Your hair and eye colour are brown, recalling the Earth element, as does your maiden name … a Granger is a type of farmer, a tiller of earth. The question is, which other natural element do you represent?”

“There’s more than one in her, Mum?” Enola asked, curling her legs under her as she listened in.

“All of us are made up of two elemental forces, though one is always more dominant than the other,” Arianwen explained. “In arcane wedding rites the idea is to join all four elements to achieve esoteric and spiritual perfection, with each partner bringing two of the elemental blessings with them.”

“So what do you think my other one will be, if we are decided that I’m definitely an Earth elemental?” Hermione queried.

Arianwen looked at her critically a moment. “I’d lean towards Water. Mind and thoughts are often thought of in terms of things that flow, which clearly reflects the movement of water. You are also known to be cool through your logical traits, which is another indicator of water. But we could just look at Harry, see what he is Master of.”

“I’ve been told he is definitely Fire,” Hermione began. “And I think that is obvious not just in how _fiery_ he can be, but in his Sun markers. Narcissa Malfoy told me all about them. And if you think my lower element might be Water, then that would make Harry’s _Air,_ wouldn’t it? But I’m not sure if he can be called a Master of Air, can he?”

“Of course he can,” Luna chirped from near the breakfast table. She sounded so confident that Hermione was a little cross, as though she were missing something blatantly obvious.

“How so, Lu?”

“Well, it’s his mastery of flight, isn’t it?” Luna smiled serenely. “He was the best Quidditch player I ever saw fly, and one of the best Seekers ever seen at Hogwarts.”

“That’s right!” Hermione cried, feeling silly that she hadn’t thought of that. “And an Adept on an Alchemical Quest is often referred to as a Seeker, which was Harry’s position on the team! So he is a Master of Air … but I’m not a Master of Earth or Water, am I? That’s a problem.”

“Oh, I think you are,” Enola quirked, cryptically. “I think any girl ruled by the Earth element can be classed as a Mistress of Earth.”

“How so?”

“Well … what does Earth allow us to do?” Enola smirked, somewhat smugly. “If we use it in just the right way?”

Hermione contorted her features as she thought. “It allows us to get dirty … it gives us something to walk on?”

“Try thinking a little more abstract.”

“Er … we can get food from it?” Hermione tried. “We can plant seeds deep down and then … and then … we can _grow_ things … we can fertilise seeds and they can grow … that’s what we can do!”

Enola smiled warmly as the shock of understanding flooded Hermione’s mind. She clutched at her chest with the revelation.

“You’re talking about making babies again,” little Celesca piped up from the other side of the room, swinging back and forth on her chair as she pulled the crusts off her toast to eat them first. “I looked up what _fertilise_ means from a book in the library, after you said about it before, Miss Hermione. It has to do with making babies, but I really didn’t understand it at all. It said you need a seed from a man, but all the men I ask around here never seem to have any seeds on them.”

“You wont have need of that kind of seed for a long time,” Luna told her brightly.

“But I want one … to see if I can grow a baby,” Celesca explained in wide-eyed innocence. “I have a plant pot and a watering can ready in the botanical garden and everything.”

Luna smiled fondly at her daughter a moment before turning back to the adults. “So, how does Hermione call on the elements of Earth and Water to bless her for the wedding?”

“Go back to the Temple of the Moon,” Enola stepped in. “There are Elemental offering altars there. Light a candle in each and make an offering to the natural world … I bet that’s what Harry will do, if he hasn’t already.”

“And what should I offer?” Hermione asked.

“For Earth you could pick anything that grows … but the petals of some pretty flowers might be nice,” Enola pondered. “As for Water, I’d go for a bodily fluid … saliva, tears, or - if you can stand a little pain - blood … something personal to you.”

Hermione swallowed hard. “That sounds extreme.”

“Hey, it’s your wedding, not mine!” Enola grinned. “I was happy enough with walking down an aisle and saying ‘ _I do’_ to Neville … it was you and Harry who just had to go one better!”

* * *

Hermione spent that afternoon in the garden with Celesca, who had readily volunteered to help with the flower-picking, seeing it as her chance to actually be a flower girl after all. After selecting a number of the most colourful red roses and white lilies, they sat and carefully picked the petals from the flowers while enjoying ice-cold, freshly squeezed lemonade in the warm mid-September sun.

Then Hermione went to make her offerings alone. She was deeply curious to have a better look at the Temple of the Moon by herself, fascinated as she was by the strange energy that radiated from the standing stones in a hum of low-level vibration. This, she reasoned, was down to the quartz content of the crystals that made up the stone, having read a little bit about crystal magic after Harry showed her the ones that captured his bad dreams.

She grimaced sadly as she thought about that, her resolution yet more steeled to make sure Harry didn’t have bad dreams ever again.

So, renewed to her purpose, Hermione entered the cool energy of the stone circle and tried to find her offering altars. It wasn’t difficult … for Enola was proven to be totally correct. Right at the heart of the circle, in the same space that Hermione had been inducted as an Acolyte in, she found what she was looking for … and Harry seemed to be there, lighting her way.

For his own candles were already lit for her.

Hermione stepped close and took a look at the altars, for the candles burning there were very specific and casting a mystical sort of glow around the stone crucible. Harry had placed a crimson candle on the altar of Fire, but an azure blue one on the corresponding Air altar, and the flames themselves flickered in these colours. Hermione felt her eyes reflecting the shift from red to blue and back again, with the flick of the soft gusts of air that permeated the Temple. And with each wave of light that passed over her she felt her insides stir, as though they were infusing her with some sort of unseen power. It made her heady and dreamy as she drank in their aromatic scents.

Then she set to her own work. She started with her candles, which she knew now needed a little alteration. Both of them were plain white wax, but that just wouldn’t do at all. They had to correspond to the Elemental colours and Hermione wracked her imperious brain as she tried to dredge up that knowledge. But she was left frustrated as she couldn’t remember them, or had simply forgotten, if she’d ever known at all.

“Right, there has to be an answer,” Hermione huffed, pulling her logical brain back to life. “Okay. Quidditch - a game designed as a proxy for the alchemical process it would seem. I wonder if this means _Hogwarts_ Quidditch in particular? Four houses, four teams, four elements … it makes arcane sense. So … what colours do we have?

“Well there’s red … for fire … and Gryffindor, obviously. And blue … and that was the colour of Ravenclaw. Raven … bird … _Air_ … this is getting a little spooky. So, what’s left? Slytherin wore green, and Hufflepuff yellow. But which is which? Snakes are serpents, they slither … which is a flowing movement like water … and they also had silver in their livery, which could be seen as liquid _mercury_ … which is watery. But what does that say about all _my_ mercury markers? Should I have been a Slytherin? Urgh, let’s not think about that.

“Actually, at my Sorting I almost became a Ravenclaw, which would have been an Air marker for me … and didn’t Harry once say that the Sorting Hat considered him for Slytherin? That means we would have represented three of the four Hogwarts houses, too … and if I _am_ a Mistress of Earth maybe I could have been a Hufflepuff instead. I wonder why I wasn’t.”

 _Because the universe wanted to pair you with Harry, silly,_ Hermione’s heart whispered to her. _It knew you ought to be together!_

“Thank you, universe!” Hermione grinned to herself. “I haven’t had much cause to thank you for anything over the last few years, but at least you got that bit right!”

Hermione continued on with her offerings. She placed the petals she and Celesca had collected into a shallow stone dish, recessed into the Earth altar, and took out one of her candles. A quick Transfiguring spell later, a flash of flame from her wand and her face was soon suffused with a deep, warming, daffodil-yellow glow. She felt the heat of a blessing settle on her, as though someone had placed an invisible crown on her head, and she just knew she was doing this right.

She moved slowly over to the Water altar and carefully placed the green candle into the receptacle that was waiting for it. She had chosen emerald green for the hue, to match Harry’s eye, and now had to select her own personal aspect for the offering. She didn’t feel like crying, so tears were out, and spitting on the altar didn’t strike her as the most respectful way to go. Blood letting seemed the obvious choice, however morbid it sounded, but Hermione didn’t feel that this was quite right, either.

“What else flows from my body?” Hermione mused, twirling her curly hair between her thumb and forefinger … and the answer came to her. “Of course … my _hair!”_

Innately knowing that this was the right answer, as she held her bushy locks in her hand, and raised her wand to cut a few strands off … then she hesitated, her heart increasing in it’s tempo. She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she weighed up what she was about to do, wondering if it was perhaps a bit much. Then she set her jaw firmly with a jarring thought.

“I had to give my _last_ husband a lock of my hair, and I had no say in that,” Hermione frowned. “But this is _my wedding_ … my choice … and I decide what sort of offering I want to make to my Harry.”

Decision made … and with that, after a swift look around to make sure she was quite alone, Hermione reached down and unbuttoned her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. She shimmied out of her knickers after that and moved her wand downwards … to the curly, dark hair that lived at the apex of her thighs, which she began to carefully trim away. Once she had collected a handful she dropped it into the offering dish and lit the candle.

A wave of green light … another tickle of Elemental blessing magic … and Hermione knew she was ready now. She was an alchemical bride-to-be … she knew it in every fibre of her, as though remembering a lost piece of knowledge, and the understanding made her unspeakably joyous.

Grinning wider than she thought she ever had before, Hermione redressed herself, gave a respectful little bow to the altars - which she noticed corresponded to the four cardinal points, too - and backed slowly away from the crucible to make her way back to the house.

* * *

Harry didn’t let Hermione see what he had been building on the grounds until after breakfast on September the twenty-second, the very morning before their wedding day. Neither of them could say the phrase without going a little distracted, so they did their best to refrain from using that exact configuration of words, in order to keep their heads fixed on. But when Hermione finally saw what it was that Harry had been constructing, it was enough to rob her of the ability to say _any_ words for fully three minutes anyway.

“Harry … it’s a _pyramid!”_ Hermione breathed in awe as Harry unveiled it to her, after she regained the power of speech. “An _actual_ pyramid!”

“Yep,” Harry grinned. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

Hermione looked up in astonishment at the huge structure, gleaming in dazzling white marble against the midday sun. _Impressive_ didn’t quite seem to cover the effect of seeing it.

“How have you managed to build this?” Hermione whispered. “You’ve only had a couple of days.”

“I’m an alchemist, I can manipulate time,” Harry smirked smugly. “I had the inverted pyramid already built, which helped a lot. Oh, did I mention that there’s an inverted pyramid, too? Well, there is one … right below the one you can see here, and of approximately the same dimensions. You’ll see inside it later, when we come back for the pre-wedding feast. Speaking of which, did you send out the invitations?”

“I did,” Hermione nodded, trying to get her mind and her breath back. “I used gold lettering on an azure field, just like in that story about Christian Rosencreutz you told me to read. Was that okay?”

“Perfect!” Harry beamed, leaning over to give Hermione an affectionate peck on the cheek, which she felt tingle all the way down to her toes.

She had noticed that recently … how she was becoming acutely more sensitive to Harry as their wedding drew closer … how his lightest touch now could send her wild, his very scent could speed her heart, a glancing look enough to thrill her with tickly joy. It was almost dizzying, in the most incredible kind of way.

“And how do _you_ feel?” Harry asked, softly. “It’s okay to be nervous, and you can ask me any questions you like, if you’re unsure.”

“I’m a touch anxious, Harry … because this is all so new … but I’m not getting cold feet!” Hermione huffed a little crossly.

“I meant unsure about the _ceremony_ … not about _me!_ ” Harry laughed. “I mean, I would hope you weren’t having second thoughts about being my wife at this late hour!”

Hermione curled her arm into Harry’s. “I am having second thoughts,” she teased. “And third thoughts, and fourth thoughts … in fact, _all_ my thoughts are about this, and I cant wait until they all come true!”

“Well, it wont be long now,” Harry smiled back. “I’d advise getting spelled to sleep tonight if you are too excited to drift off naturally … the ceremony is extensive and all-encompassing. You’ll need all your energy for it.”

Hermione quirked her eyebrow. “How long does the ceremony last?”

“Seven hours,” Harry replied, flatly.

“What!” Hermione replied, her jaw dropping open. “ _Seven hours_! Wow. Is it really that intense?”

“More than I can describe,” Harry nodded. “Even I cant be fully prepared for it … after all, I’ve never done this before, either. But it wont be like any wedding you’ve ever attended … or been part of.”

Hermione frowned at that. “After today, Harry, this is last time we mention _that_ , okay? I want to consign it to history, and not remember it for any other purpose than to fuel my revenge against the prick who forced me into it. Can we agree on that?”

“It works for me,” Harry smirked. “But come on … I need to finish up the final touches here, make sure everything is ready. Then we need to bathe and dress for the feast tonight.”

“What should I wear?” Hermione asked. “You’re making this banquet sound like part of the ceremony, so do I need to wear anything specific?”

“It is … and you do,” Harry confirmed. “Right now, I have Narcissa going over all of the details that Neville and Enola will need to know for their roles in our wedding. They are intrinsically part of it, far more than any other sort of Best Man and Maid of Honour could ever be. Enola will come to visit you later with a special garment you need to wear. She can explain it all to you.”

“That’s comforting,” Hermione grinned. “At least Ennie might be able to tell me what to do tomorrow … because I haven’t got the faintest idea!”

“That’s actually sort of the point,” Harry explained. “Us Alchemy Adepts are supposed to be a bit uninformed as we work towards achieving Enlightenment, relying on the knowledge of others who know far more about what it going on than we do, until we attain that level of insight.”

“I don’t think I like the idea of deferring to others for guidance,” Hermione frowned. “It’s like admitting weakness.”

“Asking for help displays humility, and that’s a noble trait to have,” Harry disagreed. Hermione nodded as she accepted that wisdom. “In any case, Enola was the perfect choice for you to make … for not only is she bright and clever and your new best friend, but she’s also been a bride before … a _willing bride_ , I mean. So she’ll know about everything that you might be going through, and will be there to help you deal with whatever your nerves might throw up for you.”

Hermione felt warmed by that promise. “And what about Neville? Is he only responsible for your Stag Party?”

Harry chuckled at that. “No, Nev has a key role, too, and … just like Ennie with you … he will, essentially, _give me away_ , when the time is right.”

The idea of such things stirred a melancholia in Hermione that plucked at her heart. “I wish that could have been done properly, Harry … my being given away, I mean. I … I wish my parents could be here for this, to see me marry the man I love.”

Harry tugged Hermione close to him. “I’m sure they’ll see, wherever they are. I just hope they think I’m good enough for their little girl!”

“Of course they will!” Hermione responded playfully. “I chose you, didn’t I? And you should know by now that I’m pretty much always right!”

“Pretty much always,” Harry muttered back. “Thank you for agreeing to this, Hermione … for all of it. I know this is all elaborate and confusing, but it’s the way it has to be for us. And you’ll agree with me when it’s all finished, I know you will.”

“I know … I’ll be Hermione Potter, wont I?” Hermione smiled warmly. “And, however that happens, the journey will be totally worth it … even if it does last seven hours!”

* * *

The pre-wedding feast began that night at seven o’clock, and was scheduled to last until twelve o’clock, where it would end not a minute either before or after that hour. The guests were borne along one of four winding paths leading from the confluence of the lake in a Southerly direction. Each path was lit by nine, seven-foot high torches, which crackled away on either side and made the balmy night flicker with inconsistent light.

The first path was the shortest but most dangerous, as the ground was pitted and rocky and contained hidden, fast-sinking quicksand; the second was the most ambling and lengthy, but dawdling might mean missing the ceremony entirely; the third was a royal road full of pleasant sights and aromas, and the fourth path was suitable only for those who were incorruptible.

Harry and Hermione were the only two members of the assembled persons, along with their escorts, who were permitted to take the fourth road.

Trying to process what that meant, Hermione allowed Enola to lead her to the base of the great pyramid, that Harry had built for the sole purpose of marrying her. The very understanding of that was enough to send Hermione’s mind into a tailspin, and she was overwhelmed a moment with violent spikes of love for Harry and this temple that he had constructed for her, which he had called the House of Venus.

What was a girl supposed to say to a gesture like that?

Enola led them downwards, from the pyramid above and into the inverted mirror of it below. Hermione noticed a very spacious hall to her right, through a great vaulted door with a gilded frame full of shimmering inscriptions, where all the guests were assembled on three long tables and enjoying quite stately, haunting music played by a number of the house-elves, who were dressed in white suits trimmed with gold.

But Enola didn’t escort them in via that door. Instead, she ushered Hermione into a small antechamber lit by soft light a little further along the corridor, and knocked three times on a heavy oak door. Rhian opened the door and bowed them through. Hermione happened to look up as she entered the banqueting hall, and noticed Harry entering at precisely the same time from a door on the other side of the room, with Neville escorting him along in much the same way as Enola was doing to Hermione.

They met in the middle, and Hermione quirked a confused face at Harry. He just grinned back at her but didn’t speak, turning instead, with deliberately slow movements, to look at a raised structure down at the far end of the hall, which he bowed to. Hermione, sensing that she ought to copy Harry’s example did just that … and was stunned by what she saw as she did.

For there, seated on two thrones either side of a third, slightly more elevated one, were the spirit forms of Sirius Black and Albus Dumbledore.

“Harry!” Hermione whispered excitedly. “Can you see that? Oh, sorry … am I allowed to speak?”

Harry grinned at her. “Of course you are. And yes, I can see them. I asked them to be here.”

“But … they’re _dead!”_

“Well spotted!” Harry ribbed her gently. “And that is precisely why they have to be here.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Hermione frowned. She really wished she had learned more about this.

“My Opus, as anyone’s Opus would be, was divided into three distinct stages,” Harry began. “The Nigredo, or Black Stage … the Albedo, White Stage … leading to this, my Rubedo, or Red Stage. The passing of each stage of my journey was marked by the death of the significantly appropriate _kings_ who ruled that stage … Sirius was my obvious Black King, through his surname, and Dumbledore my White King, as Albus means white.”

“But isn’t Dumbledore’s soul in that abomination raised by Riddle?” Hermione hissed.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “That thing has a smattering of earthly memories and Dumbledore’s physical magic capabilities. It has no soul to speak of.”

Hermione nodded as she tried to understand that, which was a hard enough task as it was. Then something else occurred to her. “So, if you’ve had a black death and a white death, where is your red one?”

“It’s about to happen,” Harry smiled. “In a moment, Narcissa - who will preside over our wedding - will enter to begin the ceremony formally. She will both conduct and be part of the Red Death.”

“Narcissa is going to kill herself?” Hermione asked, her voice a mixture of surprise and thinly-veiled hope.

Harry rolled his eye at her. “No, Hermione this death will be symbolic … and as much _yours_ as hers.”

Hermione gulped in anxious shock. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Kill your outmoded way of being,” Harry explained. “We will be joined together on a basic level as the wedding ceremony begins, finally cleansing you of any lingering stain of Weasley in your system … a Red Death if there ever was one. Then you will be formally presented to succeed Narcissa as Head Acolyte of the Order of Merlin … killing her role and being born in it anew, yourself.

“For you see, this Red Death isn’t just about me … it’s actually about _us_. We will be different from this stage on … closer and more bonded than either of us can yet imagine … and we will change the world with what our union will bring. From endings all beginnings spring, my love.”

“I’m so nervous, Harry … it seems like such responsibility,” Hermione mumbled. “I don’t know if I’m up to it.”

“You are … I know you are,” Harry smiled, encouragingly. “All you have to do is be yourself, for all the wondrous things that means. Without knowing, without always trying, you have spent your entire life steering me right and true, directing me to be a better man, without ever having been taught how. That’s just who you are … my guiding light … and my guardian angel.”

Hermione felt tears rise quickly behind her eyes, and she dried them on Harry’s shawl as she pulled him close and kissed him deeper. Propriety be damned … he wasn’t going to say something like that and _not_ get the biggest kiss Hermione could manage.

They were broken apart by the sound of golden trumpets, which heralded the arrival of Narcissa Malfoy to the banqueting hall. She was preceded by a thousand lighted tapers floating in front of her and was dressed in a red velvet gown adorned with a white and purple sash. All of the guests fell silent and stood when instructed to, as Narcissa beckoned Harry and Hermione to drop to their knees in front of her.

“Behold! The Betrothed!” Narcissa cried in a regal tone, her voice magically modified so that it carried all around the space in a kind of orbit. “Harry James … and Hermione Jane … let your eternal union commence.”

Hermione's insides started doing cartwheels and somersaults, to compete with the insane flutterings drifting over her skin. She couldn't even describe what was going on in her frenzied mind. After the heady magical power of the Induction Ritual, she had been left a little giddy. She wasn't sure she'd be able to handle what was about to happen this time.

But there was no way on Earth that she was going to miss her own wedding.

It was happening ... it was _really_ happening. It wasn't a dream, or a fantasy. She wasn't curled up in her bed at Hogwarts this time, clutching a pillow between her legs and clenching a fist so hard into the corner that it left creases there. She wasn't going to wake up from this and find she'd fabricated the whole thing. No, this time, the dream was totally real.

_She was about to marry Harry Potter!_

Hermione had to hold onto the tiles of the floor to stop herself from collapsing at the mere thought. In fact, she decided to sit fully down for support. There was simply no way she could keep her balance, as even her knees had forgotten how to function, in the face of the electric pulses shooting through her entire body. She tried to breathe, but this was a folly.

Hermione was too excited to even do life properly, it would seem.

Narcissa smiled at her warmly, as she stepped forwards and placed a laurel wreath gently onto her head, before doing the same to Harry.

“Friends!” Narcissa called to the hall. “In your duty as Witnesses of this union, please take the golden goblets placed before you at your tables and bring them with you, as you file before the Betrothed to pay homage.

"Once they are seated, a fountain will be placed before them, and next to that an altar bearing a black leather book and a quill made from the feather of a crow. Fill your goblets with the honey wine from the fountain, and sign your name in the book using the quill, as proof of your fealty and support for this union. Do not drink from your goblets until instructed to do so.”

There was a great shuffling of movement as everyone began to line up. Narcissa offered a hand each to Harry and Hermione and guided them to the raised platforms, where the spirit forms of Sirius and Dumbledore beamed widely at them. Harry and Hermione were eased down onto a single, large throne at the base of the platform, beneath an elaborately sculptured golden crown beset with red and purple jewels, in which sat a little cupid who shot arrows first at the lovers and then about the hall in general.

Hermione could only blink at the whole thing, as waves of heady emotion swept over her, intensified beyond description by the effect of Harry’s adoring smiles, which she could feel from behind his shawl, even if she couldn’t quite see them.

As promised, as soon as Harry and Hermione were seated, a great marble fountain materialised before them, along with a narrow altar of black onyx. One by one, the guests dutifully filed past the Betrothed, filling their goblets and signing their names in the Book of Fealty. Some did more than just sign, writing several lines of support and congratulations for the happy couple.

Hermione couldn’t wait to read them later, but for now she just cuddled up to Harry and tried not to blush too deeply at all the warm affection being showered upon them. She felt it might permanently tint her skin crimson if she did. Harry was so soft and warm, safe and cosy, bedecked in a beautiful robe of scarlet and flecked gold, mirroring Hermione’s own dress almost exactly in style, though hers was ice-white and interwoven with silver thread instead of gold.

And Hermione was hit with such a sensation as she sat there, melting together with Harry on their shared seat, that she felt full up with happiness. They were together, almost alone in this mass of people, but joined together as one. Dressed alike, sat so impossibly close that they were indistinguishable as separate entities, being loved and well-wished not as Harry and Hermione but as a couple, joined by love, on the brink of an unbreakable union.

That was when it began to feel truly real for Hermione, sat there on her throne with Harry. She slid an arm around his lower back and curled in close, shutting her eyes and just drinking in their shared energy, gorging on it, as though she might never get enough.

But one thing was comfortingly for sure … she had a lifetime to test that theory.

Once everyone was reseated, Narcissa filled a goblet of her own and faced the congregation, raising the goblet to them all.

“Drink, brothers and sisters, and live!”

As one, the assembled guests placed their goblets to their lips and drank deeply, toasting to Harry and Hermione, who felt the Witnessing Oath pass over them with a warmth that seemed to fuse them a little inside. There a was momentary tightness in both their chests, as the newness of their Bond entered their consciousnesses, but it soon passed and left only a lovely heat that surged up from their hearts and set their three eyes alight with the flame of divine passion.

Then the feast began, and there was much talk and drinking and merriment. Once everyone had gorged on all the food and wine and ale that they could manage, a company of young elves - led by Sally - entered the hall to perform a comedy on a stage they had set up on the left hand side. The play was in seven acts and Hermione found that she was getting used to this now, starting to see the pattern of repeating stages and processes and symbols. Even the play, itself, seemed like an alchemical allegory, a roadmap of what was to come that Hermione felt the most confident that she ever had over her capacity to follow the real thing successfully.

And the best part? The comedy had a happy ending … which Hermione was inordinately eager to experience for herself.

Then, once the raucous applause for the young elves had died down and they had taken their bows, Narcissa stood and addressed the congregation again.

“My friends, brothers and sisters!” Narcissa called to them all. “It is seven minutes to twelve and our feast is nearly at an end. To conclude, all must bear witness to the Ascent of the Adepts, as the first to leave the banquet. Tomorrow, they will be joined in a most intimate ceremony, of which only the worthy will be permitted to attend.

“So tonight, consider yourselves deeply. If you wish to join us to witness the final stage of this unique union, assemble in front of the House of Venus at first light. There, a set of scales will be erected to weigh the integrity of each Witness. Those unwilling to bear this ordeal ought not to attend.

“Now, to conclude … the Bridegroom, if you please.”

Harry stood and walked to the right, past where Hermione was still seated and into Narcissa’s care. She in turn guided him up a shallow flight of seven steps to the handsome, grinning form of Sirius, who bowed to Harry in a gesture of symbolic surrender and fealty. Harry touched his shimmering head with the Potter family ring, and Sirius dissipated into a fine mist.

Narcissa led Harry on, along another seven steps which curved to the right and slightly upwards to Dumbledore, who repeated Sirius’ earlier actions. Once he, too, had vanished from view, Harry mounted three more steps to face the throne that Narcissa had occupied throughout the ceremony. It was covered in the same red velvet as her robe and had a purple satin cushion trimmed with a golden tassel. Harry looked at it … and waited patiently.

For Narcissa had now returned to Hermione, calling her to her feet merely as _The Bride_. Harry thrilled at that, watching as Narcissa flicked her wand and conjured a new set of white steps, twelve in all, that ran directly from where Harry and Hermione had been sat, through the middle of the space between the thrones of Sirius and Dumbledore, with the uppermost step materialising right beneath Harry’s feet.

Narcissa led Hermione up the steps to Harry, stood her at his right shoulder, then took his right hand and placed it over her left. Next, she drew her wand and traced a thin line of silver over their skin, binding them together with an earthly vow, one that shone brilliantly a moment before sinking into their flesh.

“When tomorrow, that thread turns gold, so shall you be husband and wife,” Narcissa announced with a smile. “Now, go and rest and be renewed. At dawn, we shall begin again.”

* * *

The Ceremony of the Scales was held under the first light of the new day, as tradition dictated. There were far fewer people attending than Hermione had expected. Perhaps some felt this was a ceremony so intimate that only immediate friends and family ought to gain admittance, or maybe it was being held so early that some hadn’t been able to shake off hangovers from the celebration the night before.

Or maybe the others simply believed so profoundly in their own shortcomings that they feared the outcome of the test. Hermione felt her heart break for all of them knowing, as she did, just how it felt to be made to feel so utterly valueless under the Dark powers of King Voldemort. This was something she would have to correct in each and every self-doubter.

It was an act she felt befitted her role as their White Queen.

Hermione was woken early by Enola, dressed in a new gown of black silk and escorted to the giant set of golden scales that now stood at the end of a new, single path made of white gravel edged by crushed, sparkling coal, which lead from the lake to the pyramid. There were large weights sat next to the Scales, and Hermione wasn’t surprised to find that there were seven in total. There were four small ones, one medium sized and two that were very large.

Harry was the first to be weighed and measured by the Scales. Lit by the fiery first light of the new day, Harry - who was dressed in a black robe almost identical to Hermione’s black silk dress - stepped onto the large, golden dish of the Scale and the weights were applied to the counter-balance. But none of them moved him, not even when all seven were applied, and not even when three of the heftier male Witnesses climbed up to sit on the topmost weight.

His integrity assured, Harry smiled a dazzling smile at Hermione, one mostly shrouded to secret by his silk shawl, but still so aflame with love for her that it made Hermione’s knees shake violently as it fell on her body. She ached for Harry so much that it was starting to hurt her a little being out of reach of his arms. The next seven hours promised to the most trying form of delicious torture for her.

Harry was escorted from the golden plate by Narcissa, who led him to a door of the pyramid that was shaped like a disc, with flame motifs carved like eruptions from the circular edges. Harry stood a moment in meditative contemplation before them, then the sun’s rays fell upon the disc-shaped door, which opened in a dazzling flash of light that none of them could look at.

When the light had dimmed, Harry was gone … and Hermione was injured by the loss.

“Ouch!” Hermione whimpered to Enola, while massaging the stabbing pains pricking at her chest. “That hurt! When Harry went through that door, I felt like someone had punched me in the heart!”

“It’s a mark of the strength of your Betrothal Bond,” Enola smiled in explanation. “Harry has gone into a hermetically sealed space, one so drenched in arcane power that it might as well be another plane of existence. Crossing a dark boundary like that is bound to sting you both a little.”

“Well, I hope I get to go in next,” Hermione whined. “I hate this. It’s agony, En! I don’t know how long I can stand it.”

“I’m afraid you’d better get used to it,” Enola told her, gravely. “Because we aren’t going in next … in fact, we’ll be going in _last_.”

“What do you mean? I’m the bloody _bride!”_ Hermione riled. “I should be important enough to go in right after Harry!”

“You are, but you are also the representation of the completion of his Opus,” Enola reminded her patiently. “He began it, you have brought it to an end, and when you emerge together it will signal the sealing of that circle and the start of your new life as a Divine Couple.”

Hermione huffed, elated and cross at the same time. “So how long do I have to put up with this pain?”

“A little while,” Enola confessed. “Separation is part of the alchemical process, just as the act of _joining_ is. You cant have a final union, if the two unifying principles aren’t separated from each other for a time.”

Hermione blinked in her shock. “You … you’re making it sound like all that happened in my life was all necessary … that my being apart from Harry for so long was part of some cosmic design!”

“It was, Narcissa explained all that to me,” Enola replied. “Your suffering was _never_ part of the design, but separation and trials are key components for an alchemical couple. You and Harry went through that, were dealt some of the worst cards in Mother Nature’s pack … but here you are, on the verge of being united … joined forever, as you were meant to be.”

Hermione felt full up with love again, which drove back the dull ache in her body, which retreated into her stomach.

“So, when will I be unified with Harry?” Hermione asked again. “When can we make each other better, because I assume he’ll be going through this, too.?”

“He will,” Enola confirmed. “And you wont be able to go in for a good few hours.”

“What! Why not?” Hermione thundered.

“Harry was lit by the first light of the new sun, as befits his role,” Enola explained. “And you cannot enter the pyramid until you are also appropriately illuminated … by the first glow of the new moon, which will rise tonight with the Equinox.”

Hermione blinked again as she processed that. “My word … Harry really has covered everything, hasn’t he?”

Enola grinned as she nodded. “He has … and I’m _insanely_ jealous of you, Min! Narcissa was telling me about the ceremony, about how closely you will be bonded to Harry … and I want that for me and Nev. It could happen … he is a Red King, just like Harry, so I’m hoping we can do this one day.”

“So, how will it all work?” Hermione asked, moved by Enola’s words.

"The ceremony starts off simple - you will be cleansed and purified, your essence and Harry's dissolved into Mercurial waters … his own energies added yours,” said Enola. “You will infuse each other, bonding more closely than any normal couple could ever hope to imagine. In terms of connected union between two people, we are pretty much venturing into unheard of territory ... then you and Harry will have a lifetime to explore what that really means.

"I truly envy you, Hermione. You are about to be given one the most beautiful gifts that nature has to offer … and I so wish that Neville and I will be able to do this, too."

Hermione felt a breath escape her. She was beyond humbled by Enola's reverent words, her venerated tone … Hermione didn't know how to receive either. She needed Harry, right now. She couldn't deal with all this alone.

The other guests were measured one by one on the Scales, their integrity measured. All of them passed, even Sue Bones, even though by being moved by five of the weights she was nearly omitted from the rest of the ceremony. She joined Arianwen and Alice, Luna, Cassie, Angharad and Myfanwy, Sir David, Patrick and Angus, and finally Frank and Owain completed the party of twelve who would Witness, in addition to Enola, Neville and Narcissa, who were part of the rite themselves.

Hermione wasn’t able to partake in the Ceremony of the Scales until the moon was full in the night sky, which proved to be a torturous, anxious wait of over twelve hours. She spent much of this time in a state of restless worry, driven miserable by her concerns. They plagued her, ate away at her fraught mind, sent her to disquieted distraction that meant she couldn’t settle to anything besides her roiling panic.

What if _she_ didn’t pass the test? What if the Scales deemed her unworthy and flung her off to drown in the lake? How could she face Harry after that? Would he still want to be with her, even if they weren’t able to marry in this way? Which was something that Hermione didn’t even want to contemplate happening, as Enola’s constant vaunting of alchemical marriage made Hermione feel sorry for everyone else who had to marry in the conventional way.

It was a way that, somehow, just didn’t seem enough for Hermione anymore, not after all she’d learned in her short time submerged in the subject of alchemy.

But Hermione needn’t have worried, for no sooner had the last, heaviest weight been applied to her counter-balance during her Test … which was just as ineffective at moving her as the others had been before it … than Narcissa was escorting her to the pyramid, to a door next to Harry’s that had been invisible in the daylight.

“In a moment, the moon will reach it’s highest point in the night sky,” Narcissa told her, quietly, her red-purple robe flapping in a steady breeze.. “At the Lunar Zenith, the door will open. Take a moment, to leave all your worldly concerns behind, then step inside … Harry will be waiting for you, as eager to be reunited with you are you are with him.”

“I wont hesitate,” Hermione promised, faithfully.

“Good girl,” Narcissa smiled. “Now … get ready. Here it comes!”

Three seconds later and Hermione felt the door, and herself, burst alive with silvery moonlight. It shone dazzlingly around the crescent-shaped portal and Hermione felt a fierce force tugging her forwards, as the barrier between her and Harry was lifted. Searing hot love washing over her like a torrent of lava, Hermione swore off anything and everything that might have existed in the rest of the world.

For Harry was inside this pyramid, and there was nothing else in the world outside that could even remotely tempt her to stay there. Smiling deeply, she sucked in a huge breath, then took seven steps forwards ...

* * *

Hermione found herself in a cool, utterly dark room. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face … she couldn’t see Harry … but she knew undoubtedly that he was there with her.

“Hey you,” he breathed lightly from an unseen point in the darkness.

“Where are you?” Hermione whispered back. “I cant see a thing in here!”

“Forget about your eyes … your eyes can be deceiving,” Harry hushed back, a step or two closer now. “They make you think I’m ugly, I know they do. But, in here, I’m as handsome as you ever remembered me being.”

“Or as handsome as you will be again, when I fix you,” Hermione promised. “I love you, and I’m loving doing this … though I’m going to tell you off for not explaining it to me better and sooner … and for not warning me that I’d spend half of my wedding day in abject misery!”

Harry laughed somewhere in the darkness. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder! That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!”

“Well, it worked,” Hermione admitted, fairly. “I’ve missed you like mad all day! You had better have a good plan to make it up to me!”

“Oh, I do … I finished our marital chamber enchantments last night … they’ll be ready once the Reception is over.”

Hermione huffed in the dark. “Then it will be the shortest Reception in the recorded history of weddings … alchemical or otherwise!”

Harry chortled back just as a shaft of light illuminated the chamber. It grew and grew until it filled the entire room, as Narcissa led the wedding procession into the place, which, Harry whispered to Hermione, was called the Alembic. All of the Witnesses were now dressed in identical, high-collared scarlet robes with golden tassels, and Narcissa’s ceremonial gown now looked a deep, regal purple in the half-light from her flaming torch.

Then there was the chamber itself, which was totally bizarre. They were at the base of the pyramid, so the room was a perfect square, but the corners of the chamber had been raised and rounded, forming a flawless circle in the centre of the space. At the heart of the circle were two, long vessels made from shiny, black stone … that Hermione morbidly thought looked like coffins … and next to these were two fountains, again carved from the same black stone, one containing a silvery substance and the other more of a golden colour. Neville stood astride these fountains holding two, very large, silver ewers.

At two sides of the room, cut into the very stone itself, were two flights of stairs made from gleaming marble, that seemed to sparkle where the torchlight caught the edges. Hermione tried to see where they led, but it was palpably dark above their heads, and all she could make out was a dark, uncertain path. Hermione shivered slightly as she stood at the edge of this dark abyss, pondering the voyage.

Then she was shaken, as Enola came up quietly from behind and took her arm, before guiding her down to the centre of the squared circular room. She felt like a little dot at the very heart of it. Close up, the oblong vessels seemed more like ceremonial baths than anything else, which calmed Hermione slightly, even though she still thought they looked a bit too much like coffins for comfort.

Enola led her to the side of the bath on the right, then moved to join Neville standing between them. Harry stood by the other bath, and turned his head to the right to give Hermione an encouraging smile. Hermione looked back warmly, then glanced at the staircase on her other side, then up at the gloom again, then down into the bath, as Neville began to dip one ewer into the silver water, then the other into the gold, before pouring them both together into the empty chamber in front of Hermione.

Once it was full, Neville began the process on Harry’s bath, as Enola offered Hermione her hand … and motioned her to step into _her_ bath and its swirling, milky depths.

The water was cool but not unbearably so. Hermione slunk down into it, watching the skirt of her robe billow up comically as she became fully submerged. Enola helped her pat it down, until it grew heavy with the water and sank under its own weight. Hermione took a deep breath, waiting for whatever was coming next.

Narcissa stepped forward just then. She had handed off her sconce to someone else and was now bearing a thin sheet of emerald green crystal, which she now proceeded to read from.

“In time honoured tradition, following the instructions laid out in the Emerald Tablet, we begin this Alchemical Wedding” she began dramatically, holding aloft the item in her hand for all to see. “The Matter for the Work has been selected, in the form of the Lovers you see before you. The dross has been burned off, the Prima Materia prepared, and now we engage upon the spiritual path to grant everlasting love and enlightenment to the purified souls.

“Harry James Potter … the Prima Materia … the Matter of the Work … your chosen, ideal partner has reached the stage of Dissolution. She has overcome trials by fire, has learned to let go of her earthly struggles and awaits you to join her. To achieve this, you must allow the destruction of your ego … you know what to do.”

Hermione looked over curiously at Harry just then, wondering what he was about to do. She saw his slumped shoulders rise and fall with his anxiety, as he waged a war inside, and she suddenly thought she knew what was about to happen … and how hard it would be for him. She wanted to stop him, to call out and race to his rescue. But the Mercurial waters seemed to have rendered her inert and mute … she couldn’t move … couldn’t cry out in protest …

She could only float there and watch in heartsick horror … as Harry reached up to the back of his head … and slowly began unwrapping his veil … before beckoning his closest friends to move right up next to him, and cast their pitying judgement over his ruined, smashed face.

And the assorted gasps from those who hadn’t seen, who had never known the true extent of it before, cut to Harry like the hottest, blackest knives. He seemed to shrink a full foot in the face of their collective, compassionate disgust.

The sound sliced piercingly to Hermione’s heart, too. She screamed inside, cursed all her friends for their cowardess, then willed Harry to stand up and face them with all the courage she knew he held within. Amazingly, as Hermione watched in her silent astonishment, Harry seemed to _hear_ her. His shoulders rose up, squared off in that powerful stance he possessed, and he looked at each of the congregation in turn.

And it was the youngest of them who responded first.

Handing aside the torch she’d been carrying from Narcissa, little Celesca Lovegood - who Hermione hadn’t noticed in the dark - stepped right into Harry and wrapped her tiny arms around his thighs and clung on like a limpet, her eyes shut as tight as she could get them.

“I love you, Mister Harry, no matter what you look like.”

Hermione heard Harry break in a snap of powerful tears. She was beside herself in her bath, heavy emotion thumping at her from all parts of her heart. Love for Harry, love for little Cesc and her courage, when the adults around her didn’t know how to show theirs … and _proud_ of Harry, _immensely_ proud, for facing this fundamental fear in such a public way.

And his public quickly followed Celesca’s example. Harry was unable to return her declaration of affection, such was the force of his surging emotion, but she wouldn’t have heard it anyway, as first Luna, then Myfanwy, then every single one of them closed ranks on Harry and hugged him dearly, in turn and as a group … as the _family_ they truly were.

And then, just like that, Hermione fell in love with the whole lot of them!

Harry was eventually persuaded to step away from the others. He looked up at the ceiling, gathering his composure in a series of raspy breaths as he fought to regain mastery of himself. It took a minute or so, but once he was calmer, Neville approached him, gave him the biggest hug of the lot, then helped him to slide under the water of his own ceremonial bath.

Narcissa joined Neville, then turned to smile at her granddaughter. "Celesca? Are you ready?"

"I am," Celesca chirruped brightly. "What do you need me to do, Nanny Ciss?"

"Can you take hold of Harry's internal energy cord?" asked Narcissa. Celesca nodded that she could. "Good. Do that ... and then guide it into the water, before doing the same thing with Hermione."

Celesca stepped forward and closed her eyes, holding her hand over Harry's chest. Her tiny fingers closed around something that Hermione couldn't see. Harry seemed to jerk and writhe a moment, then became utterly still. Celesca nodded at a job well done, then turned to face Hermione.

"Sorry, Miss Hermione … this is going to feel a bit strange."

 _A bit strange!_ That definition didn't even come close! Hermione felt as if Celesca had reached down her throat and into the very base of her life energies, before dragging them out through her navel. She lost her breath at the invasion, and was too shocked by the sensation to offer any kind of resistance or response.

"One minute … one minute … there!" Celesca cried triumphantly. "All done!"

“Very good,” Narcissa smiled. “Now, Harry and Hermione, allow yourselves to completely relax. Open yourself up to the energies of the world, of the water, of the magic of the chamber. You will bathe here for one hour. Use that time to meditate, to think about your wonderful future together. After one hour, the ceremonial waters will be drained, they will be purified and treated, then prepared for you to receive them again … when we complete the operation and announce your union as husband and wife.”

The hour passed in a flash. Hermione thought all about her past, her present … indulged in every fantastical dream about her future. She knew that Harry was doing exactly the same, though she had no idea how she was so sure. She didn’t know his exact thoughts, but she could pick up on the gist, and she knew he was just as euphoric about their promise as she was.

Then the water was swirling away beneath her, until she was laying on the bottom of the bath, which was _definitely_ deep enough to be a coffin. Trying not to think about that, Hermione greatly accepted Enola’s hand when she offered it to her, pulling herself up with her Maid of Honour’s support and stepping out of the bath.

It was then she noticed, with utter astonishment, that she was completely dry.

Shaking her head in wonder, Hermione numbly allowed Enola to lead her to the steps on her side of the room, while Neville led Harry to the set of stairs opposite. _More separation_ , Hermione thought, missing Harry for every micron of the second or so that he was out of her sight, as they passed through parallel holes in the ceiling to the floor above.

Once everyone was assembled again, Narcissa approached Harry and placed a dark, Scotch Cap over his head. Hermione was thankful a moment, for Narcissa protecting Harry’s modesty, but it quickly became clear that the gesture wasn’t about that at all. For Narcissa pushed Harry to the centre of the room, which looked the same as the one below, only smaller and without the baths.

Once there, Narcissa forced Harry to his knees and arranged the congregation in a circle around him, all with their backs to him.

“Harry James Potter,” Narcissa called out. “You are Separated from your peers … scorned by them for your failings … bitter at what you allowed to happen to your Bride. Meditate on that … think about it … and think hard.”

Hermione turned to scowl at Enola, who was similarly looking away from Harry.

“What is this?” Hermione demanded, as she felt Harry’s anguish spike in her own chest. “What’s going on?”

“This is the Separation,” Enola explained. “Harry must accept, then let go of, the shadowy things from his past, the things that he is most ashamed of ... separate himself from them. Then he must allow dreams back into his consciousness … and truly accept that he has earned the right to dream again.”

“What? No!” Hermione riled, angrily. “That’s awful! I wont allow it, wont stand for it!”

“You must!” Enola implored. “This is the only way for him to cleanse his soul … to finally let go of his guilt … over you.”

Harry heard that, and whimpered as tears dissolved him again. Hermione shoved herself past Enola … but the congregation barred her progress.

“Out of my way!” Hermione demanded. “Harry! I’m coming! Move aside, Sue!”

But Sue held her ground, as though bound by some invisible, impenetrable force. There was no way through. Hermione went to rage against it, then something in her mind stopped her, as though thinking clearly for a second.

This was symbolic, so she had to treat it that way. This was how Harry felt about everything, guilty for crimes real or imagined … they were all very potent in his mind. And hadn’t they decided how they were going to heal each other of such things? Suddenly, Hermione knew what to do. She took a deep breath.

“Harry … I forgive you … for everything,” she called out softly. “I was hurt, but you healed me … I was sad, but you made me happy … I was lost, but now I am home … now let me bring you home, too.”

And, as though a spell was broken, the congregation parted for Hermione, then turned to face them as she hurried forward and scooped Harry up into a powerful embrace.

“That’s it, no more separation,” she breathed into his ear, smiling warmly as she threaded her fingers rhythmically through his hair. “We’re never being parted again.”

“No, not ever,” Harry agreed, hugging her close to him. “Come on … not much longer to go now.”

They stood together, never once letting go of the other. They might as well have been fused as one. They moved together to the staircase on Harry’s side and Narcissa addressed them again.

“We will accompany you no longer,” she announced. “The opposite staircase will now take us to the final chamber, where the Opus shall be completed. The next stages, you must complete alone. We shall see you soon.”

And with that, Narcissa led the procession to Hermione’s staircase and they slowly made their way up through the gap in the ceiling, which closed up once the last of them had passed through.

“So, what’s next?” Hermione asked, breathlessly. She didn’t want to let Harry go, not even to climb the seven steps to the next floor.

“Next comes our Conjunction,” Harry explained as they began the ascent. “The first time we must work together, and only together, to complete a task.”

“A bit like when we saved Sirius and Buckbeak,” Hermione considered, as she followed Harry up the stairs. “We did that all alone.”

“We did, and you were amazing,” Harry smiled as he fondly remembered.

“Me?” Hermione chortled. “I wasn’t the one who dispelled a hundred Dementors with one spell!”

“No, but you were the one who looked after my best interests, even though you knew how badly I’d react, when you went to McGonagall about that Firebolt,” Harry pointed out. “Then you were the only one who helped Hagrid fight for Buckbeak’s freedom, even though you were snowed under with your schoolwork. Then you were prepared to fight someone we thought was a mass-murderer, when we faced off to Sirius in the Shrieking Shack. You’re a real-life heroine, Hermione.”

Hermione grabbed the back of Harry’s robes and turned him bodily to face her, as she pulled him close for another lingering kiss. The force of Hermione’s yank on Harry caused them to topple backwards down the stairs, where they curled up in a heap, still kissing furiously. It was a good few minutes before they broke apart, breathless and shivery with passion, battling for some clean air.

Harry grinned down at her. “What was that for?”

“For you, stupid!” Hermione laughed. “You just know all the right things to say to set me off. It’s getting quite annoying, actually!”

Harry laughed and fell down atop her for another hug. “Come on then … let’s get up and see what’s next, get to a point where we don’t need words anymore.”

“Now that’s a promise I like the sound of!” Hermione hooted, as Harry helped her back to her feet.

But the next floor didn’t seem to have an obvious answer. There were no more stairs, no way to reach a wide circular portal that was floating high above them. All they found was a deep pond of silvery-blue liquid with a plain rowing boat, painted white, bobbing merrily at the heart of it. For a while, both Harry and Hermione just stared at it.

“What do we do?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry frowned. “Just get on the boat, I suppose.”

Then he stepped forward … and Hermione saw what was about to happen, but couldn’t move quick enough to stop it.

“No, Harry! I don’t think …”

But Harry was already in mid-flow. He placed his foot on the boat, which was too flimsy to take his weight. It slipped from beneath him, pitching him over into the water, before drifting harmlessly away.

“Oh, _Harry!”_ Hermione cried, as she erupted in laughter. “I did try to tell you!”

“Well try harder next time!” Harry scythed. “I haven’t even got my wand to dry myself off!”

Hermione tried _very_ hard to stop giggling, but Harry was riled by the challenge now. He chased the boat around the pond and tried again … and again … but the same result happened, leaving Harry very wet and very cross.

“Will you stop laughing!?” Harry cried, as Hermione wheezed up next to him, clutching at her chest in her mirth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione tried vainly. “But you should see yourself … it’s so funny!”

“Well maybe you might want to stop laughing and try to help me!” Harry scowled. “Or do you not want to finish our marriage at all?”

That worked. Hermione calmed and slowed her breathing. “Right … this is going to want some thinking about.”

“Take your time,” Harry bitched, throwing himself into the lotus position to stave off a tantrum.

So Hermione did, circling the pond three times as she considered the problem. Then, she came to an abrupt stop.

“Right, I’ve got it!” Hermione announced in triumph. “We have to work together. That’s what you said. So that’s what we’ll do. We’ll get on the boat together, at the same time, then we’ll see what happens.”

Harry was dubious, but he went along with it. He and Hermione joined hands, and slowly tried to board the errant boat. It didn’t seem to work at first, but with a bit of timing and co-ordination, moving in complete synchronicity, the boat became firmer and more stable … they edged forwards, and with one last haul, they finally stepped aboard the little ship, which rocked in gentle Harmony as they sat inside it.

And immediately, two balls of flame erupted above their heads. These orbs of fire then soared up, before splashing into the water below them. Utterly perplexed, Harry and Hermione watched as the fireballs slowly began to heat up the water. It bubbled and churned and popped all around around them. And then, carried by the steam from the bubbles, the boat began to _rise_ into the air.

Up and up they went, the heat all around them smothering and causing them to sweat. Both were thinking just how unsuitable their clothes were for a wedding ceremony now … when suddenly, as they passed through the portal in the roof, their robes turned from soiled black into fresh, shimmering white, as though an invisible dye was washing over them.

“Well, that was pretty funky!” Hermione nodded, smoothing out the satin of her new robe. She looked across to Harry. “You look good … all clean and pure … ripe for me to corrupt all over again!”

Harry barked out a laugh. “I look forward to it. Oh wow … look at _that_!”

Hermione glanced around as they entered the next room. It was so bright and white in here that it was like being trapped in the middle of a cloud. It was hard to see anything as they stepped out of the boat, and for a moment it looked like there was nothing there, until Hermione looked to where Harry was pointing. And there she saw a dove, a swan … and a large, shining white …

“Hippogriff!” Hermione whispered. “It isn’t Buckbeak, is it? How odd would that be, as we were just talking about him?”

“It would be odd, but it isn’t him,” Harry mused. “But I think I know why he’s here.”

“Why?”

“Symbolic flight,” Harry explained. “More specifically, _our_ symbolic flight. For to fly with a partner on a hippogriff is to be blessed by the divine love essence. We already have … that blessing is ours … so it is fitting that a hippogriff appears now to bear us to the final step. Are you ready?”

Hermione smiled beautifully. “Harry … I think I was ready the moment we slid off Buckbeak all those years ago! Come on … we’re almost late for our own wedding!”

Both knowing instinctively what to do, they approached the silver-white hippogriff, bowed to the great beast, then climbed aboard when he bowed back and beckoned them forward.

“It’s just like old times,” Harry funned, as he locked his arms around Hermione’s waist.

Then the hippogriff took flight, with far more grace than Buckbeak had ever displayed. The swan and dove did the same, leading Harry and Hermione on three orbits of the room as they climbed higher and higher, before breaking through the cloud … and emerging into a chamber far more suitable for a marriage.

They were in a pretty little chapel in the domed apex of the pyramid. It was impossible to tell if it was night or day, or even how much time had passed. For the light from Harry’s dawn streamed in through two segments of the roof, while the glow of Hermione’s dusky moon poured in from the other two. They mixed in the chapel, illuminating everything with the brilliant golden glow of the midday sun and midnight moon combined.

The congregation were all seated in three rows, divided by a central aisle with a scarlet carpet, in front of an altar that Narcissa was standing behind. The oak-panelled walls of the chapel dripped with red and white flowers, and golden torches in purple brackets crackled away around them. Music began to play from the very air itself, and Enola and Neville emerged from either side of the aisle, to begin escorting Harry and Hermione towards the altar, in front of which was another large bath made of clear glass. A figure of Saturn with his scythe stood at the end facing the altar.

Hermione was shivering with delirious, excited nerves. With each step, the moment of union grew closer. And she could hear Harry thinking it, too .. _almost there, almost there_ … as though he expected it to fall apart at the last minute. She took his hand and squeezed it lovingly, willing him to know that she was his, and that she was going nowhere. He turned, and for a moment … just a flicker of a second … Hermione saw his face without his scar … and it was the single most beautiful thing in her world.

Then they reached the altar and Neville and Enola took up positions on either side of the matrimonial bath. Celesca was sat in the front seat, rocking back and forth on her chair with restless energy, nearly as excited for this as Harry and Hermione were.

Narcissa smiled warmly at the lovers, then beckoned them into the single bath. Enola and Neville discharged their duties, moving Harry and Hermione to face each on their knees until they knocked together.

"Are you ready to make your vows?" Narcissa asked to the lovers.

"We are," they replied in unison.

"Never, in my life, have I come across two people, two souls, so perfectly suited to one another," said Narcissa. "Nature has ordained this union, brought these two separate halves together. Let all aspects of magic bless and Bond them as One."

"May magic bless and Bond them," the audience recited.

"I call upon the Spirits of Alchemy to Bind this union, to align this perfection for eternity," Narcissa went on. She drew two vials from her robe, offered one to Enola, and the other to Neville. "Maid of Honour ... seal this union."

Enola stepped forwards, tears glistening in her eyes as she beamed at Harry and Hermione in turn. Then she took Hermione’s left arm, turned it, then linked it with _Harry’s_ left arm. Then she poured the contents of the vial over the point where the arms linked together.

“Left to left … a joining of the minds,” Enola recited. “I call on Queen Luna, Goddess of the Moon, to bless this union. I offer Mercury, body of the White Queen, and my own blessed power."

There was an eruption of magic around the chapel, one so powerful it whipped Enola’s long hair around as though she had been caught in a gale. It took Hermione’s breath away a moment, as did the surge of thoughts she suddenly had … for they were not her own …

… they were _Harry’s ..._ his thoughts were in _her_ head!

Harry grinned knowingly as he spotted Hermione's astonished expression. He _knew_ … he knew this was going to happen. Ooh, she was going to tell him off for that later. But Narcissa was speaking again.

"The Best of Men," said Narcissa. "Seal this union."

Neville stepped forward, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, overcome with the emotion of the moment. His voice was fracturing as he spoke, as he copied his wife’s actions, snaking Harry’s right arm under their conjoined left ones and linking it with Hermione’s.

"Right to right … a joining of the spirits. I call on King Sol, Lord of the Sun, to bless this union. I offer sulphur, body of the Red King, and my own blessed power."

And he tipped the vial of red liquid over Harry and Hermione’s inter-crossed arms which now formed a very definite figure of eight … the symbol of infinity.

And the silver line that Narcissa had drawn at the banquet the night before flared up in vivid gold, burned dazzlingly for exactly seven seconds, then melted into Harry and Hermione's flesh with a surge of gorgeous heat.

If anyone had been watching through a window, they might have thought the room had been hit by a sudden hurricane. Nowhere, in the history of magical Britain, had a level of magic of this magnitude ever been recorded. It would be told and retold by those who experienced it for years to come.

Narcissa took a breath, and held onto Celesca tightly, as though afraid the rushing magic might somehow sweep her away. Then she regarded the lovers again. Of all the people being buffeted by this sparkling, magical gale, Harry and Hermione alone seemed unaffected. It was as if they were the eye of their own, irrepressible storm of delicious emotion.

Narcissa cleared her throat and moved back behind her altar. "May all here rise, to bear witness to the spiritual joining of Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger.

"Do you, Hermione Jane, take Harry James as your eternal husband? Do you give your mind to his mind … your thoughts to his thoughts … your heart to his heart, for as long as you both shall live?"

"I do," Hermione whispered. Tears were coming. She knew it. They were tickling behind her eyelids already.

Narcissa reached down for a huge golden ewer from beside the bath, and slowly poured the contents of the purified Mercurial water over the crown of Hermione’s head. When it was empty, the entire bath was half full with silvery liquid. The next thing Hermione knew was that she was swimming in a pool of Harry. That was the best way she could describe it. She felt his power, his energy, all his emotion flowing all around her with the swirling water. It was the single most contented moment of her entire life. She would have happily stayed in it forever.

Then Narcissa turned to Harry. "And do you, Harry James, take Hermione Jane as your eternal wife? Do you give your mind to her mind … your thoughts to her thoughts … your heart to _her_ heart, for as long as you both shall live?"

Hermione closed her eyes, smiled inside with so much love that it hurt. She didn't need to look as Harry answered the question … the emotion in his response was so emphatic it left her a little senseless.

"I truly and completely do."

Hermione’s tears came closer to the surface, as Narcissa poured a second huge ewer of water over _Harry’s_ head, turning the water golden. Hermione could feel Harry's spirit rise inside her with her tears, almost as if his loving emotions had spilled over into her own heart.

"And do you both," Narcissa went on. "Give your soul … to the other's soul?"

Warm tears fell before Hermione could stop them. Her words caught with the joyous sobs they were borne on.

"We do."

And Hermione gasped. She hadn't answered first, which she might be cross about later. But it wasn't her voice hanging in the air now ... for Harry had beaten her to this wondrous declaration.

Harry eased Hermione’s head up to look at him, his one eye streaming with tears. He looked so incredibly happy that Hermione felt certain her heart would explode if she looked too long.

"We do," she echoed through her own delirious weeping. "We so totally do!"

And then Harry was kissing her, dragging her under the water with his infectious enthusiasm. They resurfaced a full minute later, spluttering and laughing and clinging onto each so impossibly tightly. Harry looked hungrily into her face, his eye literally every lovely emotion he'd ever felt all at once.

“We haven’t reached that bit yet!” Narcissa grinned. Then she stepped back and called to Celesca.

“It’s time, sweetheart.”

“Oh, _goody!”_ Celesca sang. She leapt up and hurried to the bath.

“You know what to do,” Narcissa urged, nodding to Celesca.

“Right. Hold on Mister Harry and Miss Hermione. This is going to tickle like _crazy_ I imagine.”

Then Celesca dove her hands into the water, grabbing hold of these invisible cords of energy that only she could see. She grinned impishly at Harry, then at Hermione … then, ever so slowly, she moved her hands closer together.

And the new Mr and Mrs Potter were utterly _devastated_ by the ferocity of their own love for each other, as it exploded out from them like a bomb.

"Ooh … the cords … they're _touching_ now!” Celesca swooned. “It’s so pretty, like two halves meeting after years and years and years apart! Oh Nanny … Mummy! It's so _beautiful_! I wish you could See like I can … you should see the _light_ coming off them ... it's like they are glowing with gold! It's so bright and lovely … I want one."

It was a good thing Celesca was saying something, because Hermione had lost all concept of language. In fact, she'd lost all concept of everything. Life was being redefined, rewritten as she floated there, hugging Harry impossibly close. She had no idea how she was still alive, because she'd forgotten how to breathe. All she knew was this connection, this link from her soul, touching Harry's own and fusing with it in the most tender, delicate and unbelievably emotional way, a way she had never even conceived would be possible.

"Never, ever … in all my life …" Narcissa breathed lowly, clinging to the side of the altar for support. "Have I ever felt _anything_ like this! I think I'm melting."

"I've become a jelly," Enola whispered, nodding in hearty agreement. She was clutching onto Neville, smoothing his hair. He had fallen to his knees, so overcome with the gorgeous emotion shooting all around the chapel that he was weeping into Enola's thighs. She cooed to him and held him close, as each member of the congregation rose and found someone to love, too.

"You have to finish the ceremony, Nanny Ciss," said Celesca. "Seal them together forever. They ought to never be apart again. It would be so wrong if that happened."

"You're right," said Narcissa, gathering herself again. "Harry, Hermione … can you hear me?"

"Y-yeah," Hermione spluttered out. She could only imagine how unfocused she looked.

“Do it, Narcissa,” Harry implored. “Tell Cesc what to do … tell her to take our cords, tie them together … Hermione and I are ready to _tie the knot_.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open. It stayed that way as Celesca followed the instruction, gently turning and twisting the energy cords until they were tied together. Narcissa stepped close, then conjured a ball of fire from a dainty wrist circlet she was wearing.

“The Secret Fire!” she cried out, holding aloft the flame. “Let it fuse this Bond forever … let it turn this pair of individuals into a single entity … let it announce them as Husband and Wife.”

And Narcissa cast the Secret Fire at the Bond. It melted the knot, then fused it back together as a single, unbreakable cord. It exploded with a burst of light, and a flash of heat so warm that Harry and Hermione were tinted red a moment, as though infused with the deepest blush. Then, when the light dimmed, there were two more figures standing either side of the matrimonial bath.

“Mum! Dad!” Harry called. “You’re late!”

“Nonsense,” Lily beamed through teary eyes. “We arrived precisely when we meant to! Here, Hermione … these are for you. A bouquet of twelve red roses, the traditional flower carried by every _Mrs Potter_.”

Hermione smiled widely as she accepted the roses, allowing Lily to carefully thread one into her hair.

Then James approached Celesca and smiled as he knelt down. “I understand you are the Ring Bearer?”

“I am, because they wouldn’t let me be a flower girl,” Celesca confirmed.

James chuckled deeply. “This job is more important anyway. Here, take these.”

And he handed Celesca a pair of glimmering golden rings with red stones set into them ... offcuts of a genuine Philosopher's Stone. James smiled at Celesca.

“Give these to your Grandmother … let her finish the ceremony … to announce my son and his partner as Mr and Mrs Potter.”

Celesca beamed widely and followed the instruction. Narcissa took the rings, handed one to Harry and the other to Hermione, who took turns slipping them onto the ring finger of the other.

“I declare this ceremony complete ... and announced this couple as … Bonded for Eternity!” Narcissa cried out joyously. “Arise … Mr and Mrs Potter.”

Rapturous applause exploded all around the little chapel. Trumpets sounded, Lily the Phoenix burst into the place in a gout of flame and circled Harry and Hermione three times, soaking them with heat and turning their gowns from white into the perfect red-purple … the Opus was complete, the union sealed …

And Harry and Hermione were husband and wife. 

* * *

_**Enjoying this story? Check out some of the** _ _**others in my portfolio! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales, or join the HMS Harmony Discord Server to chat with me and other like-minded Harmony shippers about all things Harry & Hermione! Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!**_


	41. A Harmonious Consummation

****

* * *

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion and **scenes of a sexual nature** , copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline. **  
**

* * *

 **Additional Chapter warnings:** This chapter is all about Harry and Hermione's wedding night, contains little plot and is merely a decadent, unashamed slice of Harmony **SMUT!** If this is okay with you, I hope you enjoy. **But** ** _..._** if you are of a delicate disposition, squeamish or prone to second-hand embarrassment when it come to sex or explicit **scenes of a sexual** **nature** , then **DO NOT** read this chapter and whinge about it to me afterwards. Just wait until the next chapter is posted and rejoin the story there. You have been forewarned.

* * *

The wedding Reception was beautiful, like something out of a fairytale. The large Banqueting Hall, which Hermione had somehow managed to miss on her many tours of the Palace (she still hadn't gotten used to calling it _her_ Palace, yet) had been converted into an elaborate ballroom, awash with silver and gold, replete with ice fountains and crystal sculptures and live fairies twinkling away beneath the vaulted ceiling.

It was all very pretty, but Hermione didn't really have much of a mind for any of it ... for her thoughts were in a far different location altogether.

But she knew she had to play the diligent hostess first. Indeed, some sensible part of her brain knew that she'd regret not enjoying this later, even if she did want it to be over as quickly as possible. So she simpered and smiled, accepted the flow of adoration and congratulations that came her way, flashed her wedding ring to anyone who asked to see it, and was as gushing a bride as ever was seen.

Though all that was just a front, for she was gushing in a far different way, namely into a pool of dampness between her thighs.

For almost as soon as Hermione entered the Palace as Mrs Hermione Potter, she felt the air of the place had changed completely for her. It was charged, tinged with an electrifying static that pummelled into Hermione's pores as soon as she crossed the threshold. It was hot and sticky, stoking an immediate fire in her belly that soon rose to a feral sort of roar. It tinged her cheeks with the bashfulness of it.

And it didn't seem to want to go away. It followed Hermione wherever she went, and to whomever she spoke. It prickled away inappropriately at her skin, out of sight of her guests, tickling her at maddeningly teasing points on her body ... on her chest, at the apex of her cleavage; in the crease at the back of her inner thigh, where her bum curved towards her hips; and at the dead centre of her perineum, frustratingly too far away from either of those most sensitive and private parts of her body, no matter how hard she yearned for the tickles to move an inch or two in either direction.

As she looked over pleadingly at Harry, desperate to know what was happening to her, she found him smirking at her and realisation dawned ... he was _responsible_ for all this ... he was doing it _on purpose_.

Hermione huffed as she began to understand. This was the culmination of Harry's sex magic, something now so potent it could permeate the very airwaves of the house if Harry wanted it to. Which he totally seemed to, reducing Hermione to a hot, quivering wreck as she tried to act the dutiful bride, all the while having every nerve ending she possessed sensitised by this secret and unique version of foreplay, one that Harry had invented just for her pleasure.

And Hermione couldn't wait to get this bloody Reception over with and finally consummate her union with Harry, which was something she was now beginning to physically ache for.

But Harry dragged out this delicious torture for the best part of three hours. There was something almost tantric about his technique; he would raise and lower the intensity of Hermione's tingles, to produce alternating waves of lusty sensation, followed by periods of respite that were almost a torment for his poor wife. She had been numb long enough, now she just wanted to be overloaded with as much pleasure as Harry could give her, which promised to be a lot.

Then, just as Hermione felt she was fit to burst, Harry stood up and brought the party to an end. He gave a long-winded speech, in which he purposely thanked every single person in attendance, just to ratchet up Hermione's burning anticipation as much as he could by using this delaying tactic. In the end, she subtly snapped.

"Right, enough of this," Hermione hissed, fire alight in her eyes. "I've waited long enough ... take me to bed, Harry."

"Anything you say ... Mrs Potter!"

Harry grinned deeply from behind his shawl. It was the weirdest thing for Hermione, because more and more she found that she could almost see his smiles, as though the fabric wasn't hiding the majority of them, as if her brain refused to accept that there was a barrier there at all. It was something to explore later, but for now she had more carnal issues to attend to.

And Hermione was awash with hot senselessness the closer the moment came. Not only that, but her body was being assaulted in the best sorts of ways the closer she got to Harry's bedroom ... or _their bedroom_ , as she'd have to get used to calling it. Every floor of the Palace, each tormenting step on the Grand Staircase, seemed to ramp up the sexual tension, the air itself dense with humid dampness. Hermione could barely breathe with it, and by the time they reached the Sixth Floor her legs were too unsteady to function properly.

So Harry scooped her up in his strong arms ... and carried her over the Seventh Floor threshold.

"Might as well do the thing properly!" Harry grinned as he pulled Hermione close to him. "You're so _light_ , did you know?"

"So I should be, I've only eaten a pear and an apple for two days!" Hermione complained. "I wanted to make sure I'd fit into my wedding dress."

"That's silly," Harry frowned. "You should have eaten. You must be starving!"

"I'm fine. Besides, I didn't want to ruin my appetite," Hermione purred, vampishly.

Harry shivered pleasantly at her tone. "Appetite for what?"

"Your _cock_ ," Hermione blurted out, filthily. "I intend to have that between my teeth a _lot_ tonight, so I hope you have plenty of courses ready for me."

"Fuck me!" Harry laughed. "Your mouth!"

"Yes, we'll try it that way ... and several others besides!" Hermione promised in her sultry, sex kitten voice. Harry wildly wondered where she'd been hiding _that_ for all these years, and what other saucy secrets she had in store for him. It made him rock hard without the need for any of the sex enchantments he had worked so diligently on.

But it was time to get to those. So Harry held Hermione close as he carefully carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his heel as soon as they were inside, sealing them in. A whoosh of sex magic accompanied the closing door, and Hermione let out her first throaty moan of the night as the spell crashed through her body.

It wouldn't be her last.

She looked up into Harry's face, wondering if she should be embarrassed or not. After all, she'd never made that sort of sound in front of him before and she wasn't sure how he would take it. Judging by the fire dancing in his eye, though, she thought she should probably make a lot more of those noises. Her breathy panting made Harry look like he wanted to devour every inch of her, starting with her heavily heaving breasts.

Hermione thrilled at that, dripping in anticipation for that moment. But there would be so many moments tonight, Hermione really couldn't decide which prospect excited her the most. In any case, when she considered it as a whole, it was quite simply the most mind-blowing proposition she'd ever been faced with.

Harry gently set her down on their bed, onto cool sheets that were soft and silky. Hermione sank down into the depths of a king-sized mattress, watching curiously as Harry drew his wand and conjured floating candles, which he lit at the four corners of the bed and set them there to hover, flicking out the main light as he did so.

And in the flickering candlelight, Hermione threw off any lingering sense of modesty she might have been clinging on to. For, however bizarrely, every single touch of Harry's magic in the room might as well have been a deft little lick on her most intimate skin. But more than that, she almost felt the effect _inside_ herself, on sensitive areas that she hadn't known existed, or had simply forgotten about till now.

Whatever it was, the effect was certainly clear ... for with each spell that Harry cast, with each sweep of his magic that crossed the room with the heat of the candles, Hermione moaned like a brazen whore.

And the very sound ignited the animal in Harry like never before. His lusty energy spilled out of him, catching with the sex magic pulsating from the very walls. The air was tautening, congealing, and growing so hot that Hermione could see beads of sweat forming on Harry's brow. Her insides squirmed and wriggled, her breath halted somewhere between her lungs and lips and blood pumped hard between her legs, as Harry's magic swept out from him and enveloped her.

And then, as though he were some sort of sonic pulse, Harry practically _exploded._

With a dim flash of light, magical energy erupted from Harry like a bomb. It rushed into all the runes and markings and totems, charging them with his potent sexual desire. It cracked his bedside table in two. The runes buzzed with sex power, the crystals flashed with light and the very air itself vibrated, as the waves of Harry's magic reverberated off the walls, intensifying like an echo with each cycle.

But Hermione hadn't noticed any of this. For the force of Harry's magical discharge had caused a wave of orgasms in her so powerful that she'd lost all coherency and clarity of thought. She simply puffed deeply, desperate for a clean lung of air, as she squeezed her tits and rode the ripples of her first of many wedding night climaxes.

Oh boy, how this night had _so_ been worth waiting for!

Though Hermione was deeply concerned that it wouldn't last more than a few minutes if they dived right in, a worry she expressed to Harry as he unwrapped his shawl.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about _that_ ," Harry replied, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "Some of the enchantments in here are designed to avoid that particular problem, and I also, er ... _took care_ of that issue earlier, if you know what I mean."

"I do," Hermione purred like a vixen, curling seductively onto her front as her eyes clouded over dreamily. "I just wish you'd have let me _watch_. I've dreamt about what that looks like, you know ... and it really gets me going. One day, you will have to show me how you do it."

Harry swallowed hard at his wife's first demand of him of their marriage. He'd never really thought of _that_ as a spectator sport before. But, then again ...

"Okay ... I'll show you how I _do_ _me_ , if you let me watch _you_ first," Harry stuttered uncertainly. He wasn't used to being this out of control, of taking chances with his words ... it was far beyond the borders of his comfort zone.

But Hermione had all the incentive she needed to make up the shortfall and get this started at last. She rose on her knees and moved to Harry, where he was stood at the end of the bed, nervously kneading the shawl he still held in his hands. Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes like a dancing inferno.

"I thought you'd never ask," Hermione whispered breathily, causing Harry to shiver all over.

Hermione moved back from Harry's ear, her expression scorchingly hot. She reached up to the high collar of her wedding gown, brushed her hair back purposefully, then slowly unpicked the first button, revealing a tantalising flash of the moon-milky flesh of her kissable throat. Harry felt he ought to look away, before his eyeball melted from the pleasure, but Hermione took it as more shyness from him. She moved forward and eased his head back up firmly.

"No, Harry. You pay attention to _me_. You look at me, don't lose focus, just keep that beautiful eye of yours fixed on me. I want you to pay attention to me, to see everything I have to show you. You are allowed to now. I give you permission, so you can give yourself permission, too. There's nothing and no-one else for you to think about, just me ... so don't take your eye off me."

"Looking at you is all I want to do," Harry moaned. "I could stand here all night and just drink you in. But you are too beautiful ... I don't think my eye can take it. And I cant really afford to do without it, can I?!"

"I could always blindfold you, if you like," Hermione suggested, huskily. "That could be a lot of fun."

"Definitely another time," Harry grinned. "But tonight I want to be able to see you, if I can manage it. I've kept that sight as forbidden fruit for the longest time ... and tonight I want to gorge on it!"

"You can gorge on any part of me you like!" Hermione swooned. "So let me just show you your choices."

She lowered herself back to the bed, resuming the unbuttoning of her gown, which fastened in seven places down her left side. The first two buttons opened the dress to the top of her cleavage, which poked out temptingly over the top of the gown.

"You know, the first time I touched myself while thinking about you was when I was just fourteen," Hermione purred sexily. She smoothed her gown down tight over her breasts, accentuating their shape for Harry to see. He moistened his lips as he watched. "We'd not long flown on Buckbeak, and my little tits had been so sensitive that night. It might have been from the cold, or maybe from where they had been pressed so tightly into your hot body. Either way, I wanted them to feel that good again ... so I had to pinch them like _this_."

And Hermione undid another button, pulled the lacy garment down and took her exposed left breast in a firm hand. Harry bit his arid tongue as he watched his wife caress her soft flesh, rolling her firm, pink nipple between her fingers and moaning throatily as she arched her back. Harry held his hands steady, resisting the urge to take over for Hermione, or to grab his groin to offset the deep throb that had exploded there.

He felt he ought to wait for that. Hermione wanted to perform for him ... and he wanted nothing more than to watch.

"Soon, though, touching my boobs just wasn't enough," Hermione hushed in a low voice. "I needed so much more."

She unpicked another button and her hand left her breast and tracked downwards, while the other one exposed more of her flesh, as she slowly opened her dress. Harry's throat tightened as he saw Hermione's ribs, her belly button, the soft swell at the top of her hips. The lines of her pelvis shone like the guiding lights to a secret paradise ... and Harry had a ticket to enter.

Hermione undid the final buttons and let her wedding dress fall completely open ... and all Harry could do was stare in absolute wonder.

For Harry Potter had seen many sights in his life ... some beautiful, some ugly, some downright depraved and horrific ... but this was of a class never before visited by his gaze ... for this was _divine_. Hermione was completely naked now, her soft skin lit by the subdued light of the candles, flecked with the pinpricks of goosebumps, either from the cool air or her own modesty. It was a vision that defied worthy description.

Hermione let Harry gaze at her a moment, then her left hand returned to cup her breast, while the right scratched through the triangle of dark stubble between the tops of her thighs and found the astonishing moistness between the folds of her labia. Harry blinked at it, watched as the candlelight caught the glistening fluid as it coated Hermione's busy fingers. His expression was dark and wanton, and the possessive passion there turned Hermione's belly to a swirling torrent of liquid, one just dying to gush out.

And at the very thought, it _did ..._ as Hermione rose and peaked and lost control again. She panted and groaned, clenching her shoulders tight as she braced against the tide pounding through her. Then she relaxed, sighed contently and closed her eyes in satisfaction. She felt as if she were floating.

Then the next thing she knew was that she was actually _was_.

For Harry had taken his wand and cast a silent spell, causing her to rise a full foot into the air.

 _"Good God, what's he going to do to me?"_ Hermione thought, vapidly. _"Anything and everything please!"_

Harry moved around slowly, admiring Hermione so intensely, and from every angle, that it felt to her as if he were actually trying to _absorb_ the vision of her into his very being. She could see him thinking so many things ... so many _wonderful_ things ... about her as he looked. She was shy about accepting his pure adoration of her form. How could he think all that about _her_? It was just the most incredible thing in the world.

That was, until, what Harry did next.

Moving closer, he gently pressed the cool tip of his wand to Hermione's skin, tickling her crazily as he began drawing tiny pictorial spells onto her belly. He eased some of his magic into them, and pushed them into her body, deep into her very ovaries. She had no choice but to cry out at the surge of pleasure they caused. It was breathtaking. Harry moved onto her breasts and did the same thing, causing Hermione's nipples to spring up and her boobs to swell with sensitivity that flirted with the painful as blood rushed into them. She thrust her chest out on reflex, begging Harry to give it attention with his own, hot skin.

But Harry just smiled wickedly at her and kept up with his casting. He moved to her inner thighs, her arse, and finally down between her legs ... where even the smallest touch of his wand caused her to orgasm again and again. Hermione couldn't be sure, she'd have to do some research on it, but she was reasonably convinced that no woman in the history of the human race had ever been in the throes of such intense sexual pleasure as she was right now.

She was so senseless against Harry's new magic that she didn't even know what planet she was on anymore.

And Harry wasn't even _touching_ her! Though she was exhilarated to think of what it would be like when he did. For he had turned his wand on himself now, drawing yet more runes onto his hands and fingers, his tongue, even dipping his wand beneath his robe to draw on his cock. Hermione felt sure she was going to lose consciousness with the rabid anticipation, with the promise of what was about to slam into her.

She just knew she'd pass out when Harry eventually got around to fucking her.

But, first off, he was just going to taste every single inch of her it seemed. Hermione expected Harry to move in for a kiss, but he swerved away and started at her neck, nibbling at her skin and driving her crazy, before sucking on her earlobes and flicking his tongue against that absurdly sensitive piece of flesh just behind it. Hermione blinked at the rush of pleasure, desperate to stay cogent for this. But it was going to be a hard run thing.

Then Harry moved, finally, down to Hermione's chest, with a trail of hot little kisses across her collarbone. He licked up the outside of her right breast, which was so sexily ticklish that Hermione almost came again just from the contact there. Then Harry just let his mouth hover over her erect nipple, his hot breath against her skin sending her stupid a moment. He flicked his eye to hers, moistened his tongue in readiness, gave her a dirty little wink ... and moved in slowly.

Harry knew what was coming, what was about to happen. Hermione didn't. She was hopelessly unprepared.

For as soon as Harry's tongue touched her nipple, and the runic spells on each met, Hermione exploded in a screaming orgasm of such ferocious intensity that she caused the bookcase covering the door to the alchemy cell to completely shatter. Books and ripped pages cascaded to the floor, some flew out and smashed into the walls opposite, as raw magic and pleasure burst free from Hermione in pulsating waves. It was so overwhelming that she had to wandlessly push Harry's head away from her a moment, just to strive for a few lungfuls of clean air.

Hermione snapped her head around to stare at him.

"Are you f-fucking _kidding_ me?" she panted out. "You could have warned me!"

"And missed that look on your face!" Harry chortled in reply. "You asked for a sex ritual as a wedding present ... I'm only doing what my wife told me to."

"You are, you are," Hermione agreed, gulping hard. "This is all my fault."

"More?"

"Oh fucking _hell,_ yes!"

Harry clamped his mouth down onto Hermione's other breast, sucking her entire areola hungrily into his mouth and flicking her nipple deftly with the hot, wet, slightly contoured skin of his tongue. The change in texture sent Hermione into wild raptures yet again. There was a distant tinkle of breaking china in the Seventh Floor breakfast room, as Hermione's arousal spilled out of her once more, and Harry looked up in mild amusement. The wards and runes were clearly supposed to contain their passion for much longer than this. But it couldn't be helped.

They'd just have to face the consequences in the morning ... and hope they still had a Palace _left_ to call home.

Harry moved away from Hermione's breasts and resumed his hot kisses on a downward trajectory. He took his time, too, moving diligently and methodically, left and right, driving her to the edge of a mental breakdown. She writhed and arched and made such filthy keening sounds that she hadn't thought herself capable of before. The delicious frustration at being restrained and under Harry's magical mercy was turning her feral.

Hermione hadn't expected to find this so hot. She felt racily naughty, like she was flirting with the forbidden by conceding control of her body to someone again, considering the life she'd led over the past few years. But she decided there and then that this was Harry she was with, and that she was so, so safe ... so fuck expectations.

She was intoxicated on her own arousal, breathless with pleasure, and the only movement she was interested in was Harry and his searing mouth, as it inched tantalisingly lower and lower down her body.

And her language was appalling. The torrent of utter _filth_ coming out of her mouth, well ... if the others could see and hear her now! ... she wouldn't be able to look any of them in the face ever again. White Queen indeed! She was actually terrified of what would come out of her mouth when Harry eventually reached her cunt.

It wasn't the expected loss of consciousness, that would definitely happen, especially as Harry's runic-enhanced fingertips had joined forces against Hermione's runic-spelled nipples, teasing and pinching with devastating effects to her psyche ... not to mention the damage it was doing to the general vicinity around her. The bed had shifted at least three feet from its usual position and several of the slats under the mattress had snapped, due to the shaking vibrations Hermione was causing. And she was still hovering a good foot above it all.

She was sure, that when Harry eventually reached that moist spot between her legs, life would be lost somewhere in the palace. Maybe even her own. But, she reasoned cheerily, there were certainly worse ways to go ...

Hermione had thought earlier that this wasn't a night for foreplay. She just wanted Harry inside her, relentlessly pounding the restless urges from her with each fierce thrust of his hips, destroying the sexual frustrations she'd been bottling up for weeks now. There would be plenty of nights for love-making, after all ... but on this, her wedding night, Hermione just wanted Harry to fuck her until she couldn't see straight.

But then Harry's tongue dipped inside her, flicked teasingly at her clit, swirled through the wetness of her labia ... and instantly redefined the concept of _pleasure_ in Hermione Potter's world.

Harry licked furiously, like a parched lion finding a watering hole in the arid Savannah, before he enveloped Hermione's entire crotch with mouth and began sucking hard. It was like he was trying to drink her. Little pinpricks of light popped before Hermione's eyes as the first joyful waves crashed through her wracked skull. Harry was ridiculously good at this. A natural at his first try.

 _Luckiest witch indeed!_ Hermione thought, dreamily.

Which was quite the miracle in itself, as thought was beyond any of her powers just now. She simply floated there, in and out of her body at once, dizzy but mindlessly contented. She noticed that sound had left the room, and motion, too. That swirling magic, like a fierce breeze, seemed to have dissipated into the background, and Hermione wondered idly where it had gone, but she was too light-headed to really be too bothered by it.

And then ...

_"Rennervate!"_

Hermione blinked her eyes open, getting her bearings slowly in her confusion. Harry was looming over her, looking fitfully concerned. She felt the cool of his sheets beneath her white-hot skin and a damp, icy towel across her forehead. What was going on?

"Hermione ... h-honey? ... a-are you okay?" Harry stammered. His voice was _tiny_. What was wrong ... and why was she back down on the bed? When did that happen?

Hermione blinked again, and sensation came rushing back. She throbbed and ached passionately between her legs, which were sticky with moisture; her heart was speeding at all her pulse points and she was manically exhilarated ... but Harry was fretfully dabbing that cold cloth to her sweaty brow. And he looked so fraught with worry for her that Hermione wildly thought that he was about to burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry," he was mumbling in that frightfully agonised tone. "I knew this was too much ... I'm so sorry, Hermione ... I just wanted it to be perfect for you, and now it's all gone wrong ..."

Harry was looking so overcome with guilt that Hermione's heart bled at his distress. Of all the things that she knew about him, of all the darkness and pain she knew that he carried inside, to think that he could be loathing himself for going to such lengths for her pleasure ... that he blamed himself for a _mistake_ on their wedding night ... it was a thousand kinds of wrong in Hermione's world. She had to soothe his agitation fast, before it became another addition to his dark, mental plains. She had to pull him back quickly ... before she lost him to his misery. She reached up and cupped his head gently.

"Hey ... _hey_ ," Hermione cooed softly, smoothing Harry's shivery cheek. She pulled herself up sharply when he turned away from her in his guilt, not responding as Hermione had expected him to. She eased his head back to face her. "Hey ... look at me ... _look at me_ , Harry! ... hey, I'm alright. You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"No, no, I'm so sorry ... this was far too much ... I was stupid, thoughtless ... I just tried ... I wanted to ..."

Harry looked pitiful, distraught beyond the telling of it. He couldn't even finish any of the broken sentences he was trying to convey.

"Hey, come here ... _come here!_ " Hermione urged in a tender whisper, her concerned tone gossamer-soft and lyrical, genuinely, heartbreakingly surprised at how badly Harry was being affected by this. She drew him as tightly to her as she could, cradled his head against her neck and shoulder, and began threading her fingers rhythmically through his hair, soothing him as best she could. She gave him time to let his dark moment pass, hugging him close, whispering soft words of reassurance into his ear. Harry relaxed into her embrace, his body sagging against her arms, and, for a minute, he seemed content to just let Hermione hold him and soothe him.

However, once Hermione was satisfied that Harry had calmed again, she was stirred to sexual playfulness once more.

"Now ... don't you think you're getting off the hook that easily!" Hermione purred flirtatiously into Harry's ear. "You have husbandly duties to fulfil with me this evening. It is our wedding night, after all."

Harry pulled back, cautious and unsure. "What? A-are ... are you sure? What if you pass out again?"

"Then you just wake me up and we go again," Hermione grinned hotly. "We have so much lost time to make up for and I don't want to miss a _second_ of it now. Besides, if you think I'm not seeing you naked tonight then you've clearly not been paying attention to me for the last couple of months!"

Harry grinned, warily and cheekily. "Okay, if you're really sure."

"I totally am ... but maybe we should lay off the crazy sex magic for a while," Hermione smirked. "We are both so wound up tonight we might blow up the whole building if we aren't careful!"

Harry guffawed deeply. "I agree. I've already taken the runes and sex spells off our skins."

"For _now_ ," Hermione hummed suggestively. "We are _so_ revisiting that technique, Harry! Tomorrow you are going to explain to me how the hell you even came up with that one!"

"But for tonight?"

"Tonight you're going to fuck me until we feel like we are back at Hogwarts again."

And then they were kissing, and kissing, rolling around on the bed as they battled for dominance, his hands tangled in her hair, hers fiddled with the ties on his robe. They grabbed at breaths only when one of them was at the precipice of asphyxiation, both acting like severed electrical cables, with movements wild and random, their white-hot bodies sparking with raw energy.

Eventually, Hermione undid the final clasp on Harry's ceremonial robe ... and dragged it away in one, ferociously excited motion.

Hermione's eyes popped wide at her first vision of Harry naked. She was going to take a moment to drink this in, understanding immediately why he had done this with her. His body was just the most ... it was ... she gave up. Her stolen breath had taken away any words that might have described it adequately.

Harry was quite as tight and toned as Hermione remembered from during his Quidditch days at Hogwarts, and she'd seen that a couple of times since she'd been here, when Harry had stripped down to everything but the bare essentials for her. But, back in their school days, Hermione had never been allowed to wallow in the beauty of Harry's muscular legs, or to caress his flat stomach, or to nibble at the downy tufts of hair around his nipples, the only hairs on his otherwise bare, contoured chest. So she was in erotic heaven as she swooned at him now, as she reached out and touched Harry's private skin for the first time with his permission barriers down.

The thought actually made Hermione groan in triumph in her throat ... she had done it, she had broken down his walls ... and she felt a world closer to Harry as the notion consumed her.

But she wanted to get back to her sexual exploration of her new ... no, her _true_ ... husband. For as well as his front side there was also his _back_ , and that arse, firm as a peach. Hermione couldn't resist squeezing it, and Harry tensed his buttocks for her with a filthy little laugh.

Now it was Hermione's turn to take a spin at trembling. She ran her hands slowly up Harry's back, across the scar tissue of his old Triwizard dragon wounds, and over his shoulders to the burn that the locket Horcrux had left on his chest. There were other wounds, too, ones he hadn't told her about yet. She traced her fingertips over them delicately. Harry flinched a little at his wife's touch on his more tender injuries, but tried not to show that he did.

"It's alright," Hermione whispered gently, brushing a soft kiss to the undamaged corner of Harry's split-in-two mouth. "I wont hurt you ... I'll _never_ hurt you. Your scars are my scars now."

Then she moved her eyes downwards, over Harry's stomach, dipping beneath his waistline for the first time in his nude state ... and she got her first look at Harry's cock ... and Hermione wildly wondered if it was some sort of late birthday present!

For what a present this was! Harry was well endowed, large but not obscenely so, was fully erect again after losing potency in his worry earlier, and the veins were popping out of the sides of his shaft with the intensity of his arousal. Hermione's own eyes popped as she blinked hard and licked her lips at the sight.

Then she flicked her burning eyes to Harry. "I know I said no more foreplay ... but I just have to ... try and hold on for me."

And then, without any greater warning than that, she slid down quickly ... and enveloped as much of Harry's swollen cock into her mouth as she could take.

Harry moaned at the sensation, bucking back at the warmth and wetness of Hermione's inner cheeks, her teeth, her bobbly tongue where it flowed around his throbbing, insanely sensitive _other_ head ... it sent him into the stratosphere. He clutched fists into the bedsheets, messed up and damp with sweat already, and flung his head back as Hermione increased the tension on him with her pouting lips. _She_ was driven crazily hot by the sounds he was making, as she continued to move her mouth up and down in a merciless, relentless motion.

Neither had noticed that the air had become so dense and hot that the glass in the window had actually cracked and melted. Or that the runes in the walls were genuinely smouldering from their passion.

Just then Harry's body began to tauten. His fisted grip in the sheets became firmer and firmer, until he was pulling so hard that it was turning his knuckles white. But Hermione didn't want to finish like this, not tonight. A quiet part of her brain silently hoped that by the end of this night Harry's seed would be quickening in her womb ... but that wouldn't happen if his seed was trickling across her tonsils and down the back of her throat.

So Hermione gently eased the pressure she was applying with her lips, slowly eased Harry's cock out of her mouth, gave the swollen purple end a little kiss, then dragged herself back up the bed to him, pulling him close as she lay flat, feeling his weight as a very real thing she moved him to settled down on top of her. Harry had never felt more alive to her as he did in that moment.

An electric charge flashed up Hermione's spine as Harry's cock, lithe and firm and springy, flicked and grazed against her soaked entrance for the first time, as he wrapped his arms under her shoulders, tugging her protectively tight. She reached behind his head and pulled his mouth back to hers. Harry simply moaned against her lips. She felt him increase in hardness as their tongues tangled together and it was a startling sensation, to feel him grow against her blazing crotch. It was a positive affirmation, too, for Hermione now knew she had the power to arouse Harry at will.

And that wasn't a magic she'd ever want to give up.

Harry's movements had brought them into a comfortable position and, with a slight readjustment of her hips, Hermione felt herself ready. She relaxed, waiting and eager, and Harry eased his head away as the realisation hit him, too. He looked at Hermione beneath him for a breathless moment, heartbeats paused between them, and Hermione could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. For a second she wildly thought that Harry might roll off of her at this final moment, afraid of the journey into her womanly abyss.

But he just smiled adoringly at her, brushed an errant, sweaty hair behind her ears and whispered down to her.

"I love you."

Hermione felt herself melt against him at his declaration, becoming fluid as Harry eased cautiously forward ... and slipped inside her in one smooth, surprisingly assured motion.

Hermione sighed breathily in utter contentment, Harry made a keening sound that was lost somewhere, as he buried his head back in the crook of Hermione's neck, his fingers pressing deep into the flesh of her shoulder blades. She reached up to grab the back of his neck, his clavicle, his waist ... anything tangible to drill this sensation into her consciousness, because she never wanted to forget this feeling. Ever.

For if she could accurately define _completion_ in her life, this sense of this moment would be it for Hermione Jane Potter. Harry fit inside her perfectly, stretched her out and filled her up at the same time, as if his shape had been designed with hers in mind. She gasped at its symmetry, the sheer perfection of it. He touched her everywhere, on all her sides, causing her not an ounce of discomfort as she was sent into wondrous raptures as she clenched around him.

Hermione pulled Harry's head up then, to chance a look at him, to gauge his reaction to all this. His eye was wide with innocent surprise, all of these sensations brand new things to him. Hermione thought it was just the most insanely sweet thing, that she was able to give him these first experiences with herself ... the only one he'd ever really wanted to share them with anyway. She'd never felt so possessively covetous of anything in her whole life.

Hermione smiled up at her Harry, her husband, threading his damp hair between her fingers as he throbbed away powerfully inside of her, and feeling so obscenely in love that it pulsed warmly around her body, thrilling her as powerfully as any of her earth-shattering orgasms had.

But it was high time Hermione got back to those.

Hermione gave Harry a few moments to acclimatise, to get used to the feeling of being buried deep inside her warm folds, then encouraged him to move with her own motions, thrusting her hips up at him until they soon fell into a rhythm that suited them both. Hermione's mind disappeared to the Moon, swept away in the overpowering tempest of lust that now powered through her. She became a slave to sensation, narrowed her perception to just that space that she and Harry were occupying in the world. A space of ferocious, indefinable pleasure.

Then Hermione squeaked and giggled in surprise as Harry, emboldened by his performance, took control. He flipped her easily into different positions, demonstrating the strength of his physique as he moved her around, ruthlessly pounding her into the mattress with his lusty thrusts, as he drove into her like a human jack hammer.

Hermione could barely breathe, but she wouldn't dream of telling Harry to stop, not when he was stirring that dirty, sex kitten side of Hermione that he'd roused earlier, a side she had always hoped to indulge one day. So she found a way to just about survive, by inventing new gutter obscenities to scream to the heavens, and by biting into Harry's flesh to offset another blast of orgasmic pleasure, and by digging her fingernails into his arse to drive him deeper and deeper insider her with every relentless thrust.

Harry plunged into depths Hermione never knew she had. But it was like he belonged there, was built purely to find these new spots on her, born only to bring these new desires to her surface. The air in the bedroom was ridiculously dry and dense and Hermione needed something fresher. She could only imagine what the rest of the Palace must be like. Then, she got a slight clue, as she glanced over Harry's shoulder at the melted window, which was now little more than an amorphous blob of gooey glass oozing down the side of the house.

The sight made Hermione laugh out loud ... and she was hit with an idea.

She flipped Harry over, straddled him, and he laughed in surprise, himself. Hermione guided him back inside her and began to ride him expertly, rolling her lower back like a practiced lover, until she shuddered to another thundering orgasm that hit her like a stampede of wild hippogriffs and she collapsed atop him. This was getting obscene. Hermione thought pleasure like this should probably be illegal. Harry's magic, and the spells he'd cast on them both, had intensified the natural sensitivity of their bodies to such a fever pitch that he could make her come on command it seemed. A handful of thrusts and she was a mess all over again.

And she was _loving_ it.

But Hermione still needed to breathe, so she slowly eased Harry out of her. She felt him go with a profound sense of loss so fierce and cold that she yelped at it, as though stabbed by a physical pain. She hopped up quickly, pulling Harry with her to the square gap where the window had been.

Harry hooted out a laugh as he saw the melted glass, and Hermione leant out into the cool, night air. It washed over her boiling hot skin in beautiful, breezy little tickles. Hermione turned her head over her shoulder, flicked her long hair down her back, and gave Harry a sultry, wanton look, beckoning him back to her.

And this time, Harry knew what to do.

Harry pressed close to Hermione's back, easing in gently as she parted her legs for him. She groaned gruffly as he brushed over her G-Spot from this angle, and he began moving in and out of her in a steady rhythm, sometimes drawing all the way back, seeing how far he could go, before driving back into her deeply again, savouring the filthy, throaty moans that the actions produced from his wife, till she writhed and screamed lustily again, causing the bottom two floors of the Palace to shake violently.

It was while using this little technique that Harry accidentally popped out fully, but when he went to move back in, the slipperiness of Hermione's body made Harry's cock slide upwards and between her pert arse cheeks.

When Harry's white-hot cock head touched the silky skin of Hermione's anus, she had to bite her lip in her astonishment. Her sensitivity there was _incredible_ , not to mention unexpected. The merest touch from Harry had sent little electric pulses shooting all through her ... so she made a snap decision right there. Reaching around and taking Harry's rigid cock between her fingers she guided him away from her pussy ... and right up to the warm entrance of her arsehole.

Harry froze a moment, suddenly unsure of himself again. "What ... what are you doing?"

"I want to try it like this," Hermione breathed lustily. "I've never had it in there before ... so you'll be the first to fuck me like that ... and I'm just dying to feel your heat in my bum, Harry."

"But ... wont it hurt?" Harry asked warily, though he couldn't help but be tempted by the possibility of being somewhere that Hermione had never been explored before.

"We'll take it slow," Hermione soothed him. "I've liked my fingers up there before, and I just have to know what you'll feel like, instead. I know you wont hurt me ... and I don't want either of us to miss out on any potential sources of pleasure. Please, Harry ... fuck me like this ... I really want you to."

"If ... if you're sure," Harry mumbled, cautiously. "But the moment it starts to hurt ..."

"It wont ... trust me," Hermione cajoled. "Here, just let me do all of the work until I tell you that I'm relaxed enough for you to move. Okay?"

Harry nodded uncertainly, and Hermione began working him around in little circles against her anus, pushing back with increasing firmness on each rotation. Every cycle made her squirm and tingle with a thousand electric sparks at the contact, moaning like a seasoned whore until she was finally relaxed and stretched enough for the head of Harry's cock to fully disappear into her arse with a little pop of suction.

And the startling shock of pressure and deliciousness at the penetration made Hermione think that she'd just discovered a new favourite guilty pleasure.

Hermione tensed her hungry sphincter around Harry's cock and he moaned throatily at the tightness, at the tauten-then-relax rhythm that Hermione was using to adjust to the size and shape of Harry in this previously unbreached part of her body. The motion was driving him crazy, and Hermione was electrified by the new, guttural sounds Harry was making because of it.

And a curious thought sprang into Hermione's mind, as she listened to Harry moan against the back of her head, biting her hair, overcome by fresh surges of lust for her ...

Harry _liked_ having sex this way ... which he'd likely never tell her, as he probably thought that he shouldn't, just in case she _didn't_ ... but Hermione was more astonished by the fact that _she_ was loving this, too. It was naughty and new, something a bit forbidden and taboo, and the fact that they were doing it ... and both enjoying it ... drove Hermione wild with new waves of arousal.

And the effect served to open her up a little more. She pushed back slowly, practically growling with every inch of Harry that she took into herself, until finally, with a jolt of surprise tinged with smug self-satisfaction, she felt his balls slap up against her open, throbbing cunt. For that's what it was called tonight. All its cutesy names had followed her head and her cogency out of the melted window. Hermione threw her head back like a half-feral cat, revelling at Harry being so cosily deep inside such an intimate part of her, resumed her stream of gutter verbiage like a bout of sexual tourettes, and looked out across the night, realising, with a sobering jerk, just how far down the ground was from the Seventh Floor of her Palace.

And then, her fear of heights kicked in and she recoiled sharply ... pushing back harder onto the heat of Harry's cock and causing every inch of her skin to prickle with tingly pleasure, sparking from the nerve endings of her arsehole as they caught fire from the friction, and igniting all over the rest of her body like a swarm of electric insects.

Hermione blinked in surprise as she realised something ... this action worked for her. Harry still wasn't sure if he was supposed to fuck Hermione anally or not, worried that movement might hurt her, and perhaps it was better to stay still and just let Hermione clamp and unclamp around him as she had been doing earlier. She would just have to take control for now and get back to reassuring him later, when she had remembered how to speak in a respectful manner.

So Harry stayed relatively motionless in his uncertainty. To communicate her encouragement to Harry as best she knew how, Hermione forced herself to look out of the window, then baulk back onto him in shots of fear, then repeat the process over and over. So they soon fell into a sort of grunting rhythm. Hermione made a mental note of this for the future ... it was a ridiculously intense way to get fucked. The contrasting stimulations were sending her wild, Harry's moans had gone up a sexy octave, and the surprising orgasm building in her loins promised to blow her head off her shoulders.

Whether it was the pressure, the tightness, the movement, the erotic naughtiness of fucking Hermione's arse or her own guttural noises, maybe a combination of the whole lot, but it proved far too much stimulus for poor, inexperienced Harry. He felt the surge coming from deep in his groin, gripped tightly to Hermione's waist to try and regain control, but he'd reached a natural finish point and there was no turning back. It was how Hermione wanted it for him, and if it meant finishing with anal sex, well ... there'd be plenty of other nights to make babies with him.

"Don't hold back," Hermione breathed encouragingly. "If you're ready to let go, just let go. I love you."

And it was _this_ that made it too much for Harry. Hermione smiled to herself in utter, complete contentment, as Harry swelled and throbbed inside her, let her heartfelt declaration sweep through every particle of his being as it brought his orgasm slamming into his body, and he released inside Hermione with everything he had ... which was a _lot_.

Hermione had expected _that,_ given that this was Harry's first time ... but what she hadn't expected was for him to roar like a _lion_ when he climaxed, or that his sudden increase in size with every long spurt would send _her_ so far over the pleasure precipice that the final remaining power crystals in the room shattered, the runes burnt out on the walls in fiery, hissing sizzles, and the bed cracked into three separate pieces, as Harry and Hermione simultaneously came, like a pair of out-of-control steam locomotives smashing into each other head-on in a collision of epic proportions.

But this is exactly what happened.

Harry hadn't transformed, which Hermione was pleased about, as that was just too weird a concept to process just now, but Harry had channelled all his inner animal into her. It was a good job he was grabbing on so tightly to her hips, Hermione considered, as Harry's explosive orgasm might have been enough to send her toppling out through the window frame.

Harry gasped hard as he rode the last waves of his orgasm, panting rapidly, before falling down on top of Hermione's slick body, nibbling her ear from behind as he huffed lustily into it, trying to gather his breath. That drove her senseless, too. They stayed like that for a few minutes, heaving lungfuls of air together as they calmed, until Harry lost the last of his firmness and slipped easily out of the supple moistness of Hermione's arse. She eased him back, picked up his wand from the wreckage of the bed and repaired the damage with a lazy little flick, before they laid down together in exhausted satisfaction.

"Well ... that was ... that was ... _incredible!_ " Hermione mewled contentedly, snuggling into Harry and shaking her head with dizzy, wondrous astonishment.

"I have no frame of reference, obviously," Harry breathed back, still gulping for air. "But that was the single most amazing experience of my life! You're unbelievable at this!"

"Me!" Hermione cried incredulously. "You're the one who shagged me like a pro at the first time of asking! How typical is it that you should be naturally good at _this_ , too? You have a habit of doing that ... of being good at things without really trying ... and if I didn't love you so much, I'd find it highly irritating!"

Harry laughed at that and pulled his wife close. "Look on the bright side, you get the benefits of my proficiency!"

"That's true ... I really do, don't I?" Hermione chuckled. "Just wait till I tell Ennie! She'll probably be so wild with jealousy that I really am the _luckiest witch alive_ that she might not talk to me for a full month!But you being so good at sex without even practising is still a bit annoying!"

"Well, maybe I just had a great teacher," Harry suggested, honestly.

Hermione smiled deeply. That wasn't a compliment she had been expecting. She had hoped that she and Harry would be sexually compatible ... to compliment all of the other ways in which they were so perfectly suited ... but this flawlessness of symmetry was beyond even her wildest dreams. And for Harry to just come out and say how good _she_ was for him, well ... it set her heart and loins to dreamy flutters.

Hermione reached over and lovingly brushed Harry's sweaty hair away from his clammy forehead. "How about we agree that _we_ are amazing at this ... at doing it _together?_ Harry - you've left me utterly breathless! It's better than even my dirtiest dreams about it might have been! I don't know what else to say!"

"Then let's not speak for a bit, just enjoy the moment," Harry cooed, wrapping his arms around Hermione's slender frame. "Or do you think we should go out and start repairing the damage we must have done to the Palace? I'm sure I can smell smoke coming from somewhere!"

"That's probably a good idea," Hermione nodded. "But, on second thoughts, maybe be should wait until we've finished _breaking_ the Palace before we go out and start fixing it!"

Harry felt his belly stir at the suggestion. "Fancying a second round, are we?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, brightly. "We'll give ourselves half an hour, call Rhian for some water, and maybe some fruit and a bottle of wine or two, and try and get our heads around this incredible day. That way, if we want to get all soppy and emotional for a bit, or have a giggle about how destructive our love-making might be, we can ... to get it out of our systems before we are ready to go again."

"And then what?" Harry asked, mischievously.

Hermione's eyes flashed naughtily. "Oh, I really cant tell you that, sweetheart. You kept that bloody rune spell thing from me, now it's my turn to try and surprise you. See if I cant blow your mind ... or blow something else entirely!"

"Half an hour," Harry parroted with a little nod, shuddering deliciously at Hermione's promise. Then he looked around gravely, at the carnage that they'd already wreaked on their bedroom, and sighed deeply. "You call Rhian, then ... I'd better make a start on recharging these wards!"

"Make them doubly strong this time, honey," Hermione advised, vampishly. "Because if Nev and Ennie were able to cause an earthquake on _their_ wedding night here, I don't think I'll be happy until we've caused a cataclysm of _Biblical_ proportions on ours!"

* * *

 _ **Enjoying this story? Check out some of the** _ _**others in my portfolio! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales, or join the HMS Harmony Discord Server to chat with me and other like-minded Harmony shippers about all things Harry & Hermione! Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!**_


	42. Damage Limitations

****

* * *

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history.

* * *

Harry woke slowly, stretched out languidly on his bed and looked around. Daylight was streaming in through the windows now, which could only mean that he must have finally passed out at some point in the night ... but not after he'd been making love to Hermione _for hours_. Making love to _his wife_ actually, he correctly himself joyfully. The thought sent his mind into a tailspin and, for a moment, he just stared up at his ceiling, fighting the urge to kick his legs up and down with the ecstasy of it all. Harry noticed the plaster on the ceiling was cracked and blistering as he looked at it ...

It was like it had been exposed to some _serious_ heat.

He laughed quietly to himself at that. He didn't want to wake his wife, fast asleep and obscenely pretty next to him. _His wife._ Harry just stared at her, grinned widely and decided he wasn't going to use her actual name for a while, just her new title. It made him stupidly happy just to think it. He wasn't supposed to be this euphoric. It wasn't even contentment that he was feeling ... it was bliss. Enraptured, exalted bliss. But he was Harry Potter ... dark, broody, tough saviour of the world.

Mindless joy wasn't supposed to be on his menu. But here it was, swirling all around and threatening to smother him with happiness.

Harry needed a dose of his old reality to get his head down from the clouds. So he slipped quietly from the bed and eased on his dressing gown. It was, remarkably, in one piece. It must have been one of the few items left in the room that could make such a claim. For the place was a _state ..._ there was actual _debris_ littered around Harry's feet. He found the sight ridiculously funny, and bit down on the sleeve of the dressing gown to offset a fit of hysterics that threatened him, as he looked around at the charred walls and smashed furniture ... the aftermath of his sex-shattered domain.

Harry Potter was convinced that had never seen a funnier sight in all his days.

He pulled the black and red dressing gown around his shoulders, it had the Gryffindor badge emblazoned on the right breast and was the cosiest piece of clothing Harry felt he owned. He didn't bother tying it, as the air was still stiflingly hot. He'd better open the window, just in case his wife needed a bit of a breeze on her sweaty body. It might blow the heady aroma of sex from her sticky skin. Oh ... _oh yeah! ..._ there was no _window!_ Harry just stared at the vacant square in the wall, like it was a curious piece of abstract art or something ... then remembered some of the arts _he'd_ been practising there a merely a few hours before ...

And Harry smacked his lips at the luscious memory. He turned to look at his partner in that sexy crime, spread-eagled on his tangled sheets, naked as the day she was born. She was so beautiful. This was _definitely_ Harry's favourite outfit for her. He wondered vaguely how often she would wear it for him.

_Every day ... for the rest of my life ... so long as I don't find a way to mess this up._

The truth of the thought careened into him like a sledgehammer, and he was back to grinning like a dopey teenager again. Harry picked up one of the wine bottles that Rhian had brought them last night and slurped down its remnants. It may have been a bit early to start drinking, but Harry was parched and in a celebratory mood. Then he spotted _an_ _other_ bottle, wedged firmly between the splintered remains of his bedside table. He remembered, with a flashed memory of filth, trying to drink the wine from every orifice of his wife, then trying to use it for a bit of decadent lubrication when things got a bit _dry_ ... only to spill the whole thing and having to reignite the lubrication charms he'd built into the walls, which wasn't nearly as fun, even if they were far more practical and effective. 

But Harry and Hermione had decided that their mind-blowing sex life was just another example of their perfection, their compliment to each other. They would have no boundaries, no limits. Nothing was off the table. If it might give them pleasure, it was worth a couple of tries. That meant limitless possibilities and Harry was pointedly keen to begin that voyage of exploration.

But, not all aspects of the world had changed so dramatically overnight. It was still full of darkness and fucktards and people who needed, quite simply, to be butchered where they stood. Today, for the one and only time, they were all going to get a free pass, a day off. Harry was going to enjoy the day after his wedding like a normal man would. Then, after that, he was going to go full tilt at his enemies. They had been allowed to regroup and re-strategise long enough.

He vaguely wondered what they thought he was doing, being so idle as he was. He assumed, by now, that Riddle would know about Hermione, and the loss of his connection to her. Her awesome display at the ICW had been a thing of beauty, but Harry knew the spies and traitors among their ranks would have sent word to that snake-blowing cunt as soon as they could.

Harry didn't really care. He wanted the world to know Hermione was his anyway. If only so, when the time came, their enemies would know _exactly_ what they were being slaughtered for. Harry had returned to this mortal plane to marry and protect Hermione. He hadn't had a fucking clue how it was going to happen at the time, but thank the Gods it somehow _had_. She was his wife now, his soul mate ... and he would burn to ashes the world that threatened her.

There was also this exciting little detail of her wanting a baby with him as soon as possible.

If there was anything worth destroying and rebuilding a world for, it was _that_ wonderful prospect. A _baby ..._ with _Hermione_! They would be a proper family then, in all the new ways that they weren't already. That was a hell of a thing to look forward to. Harry grinned at his wife's naked, alluring body as she slept away ... and wondered just when she'd bring up _this_ little nugget of information with him, that she wanted _another_ body to be growing inside her as soon as it was reasonable.

Harry was just relishing all the practice that they'd get in trying to put it there.

Hermione would prefer a girl, Harry was certain about this. Even if she'd debated it with herself, Harry had felt the truth with undoubted force when he was residing in her mind. He was growing slightly concerned that his wife might actually want to _steal_ little Celesca Lovegood, and he was genuinely considering putting an elfish security detail on Luna ... lest she come to meet her end by some unfortunate lake-related drowning accident, or something ... but he was also tempered by the fact that Hermione had come around to the idea of babies so swiftly.

For being in Hermione's mind had been an illuminating, if at times horrific, experience for Harry. He would have to get into meditation as soon as he had a spare day, to siphon off some of the worse things he'd seen. The fresh, pulsing euphoria of his marriage was only masking the abject horror of some of the memories he'd witnessed, particularly of Ron's abuses of his beautiful girl ... scenes that Harry was now trying desperately hard not to dwell on at all.

They'd already decimated so much of the Palace with their relentless love-making already, after all ... and Harry's angry rage was more than capable of taking care of the rest.

So he forced the memories aside and made his way through to his alchemy cell, smirking at the ashen remains of the bookcase-door, where it lay in splinters against the far wall, the singed pages of books which once adorned its shelves now covering it like confetti that someone had forgotten to throw at the wedding. Harry chuckled to himself as he looked at the carnage he'd helped cause. He didn't know why he found this all so hilarious ... he just did. It was the funniest thing. But Hermione would likely be horrified to learn she had damaged _books_ with her carnal desires ... and that made Harry laugh harder, too! He rather hoped she wouldn't mind _too_ much in this case, though, for in his opinion at least ... and he reckoned she'd agree ... destroying a bit of literature was well worth taking his virginity for.

He cast a look back at his slumbering wife, drank in the angelic vision of her naked, sex-exhausted body.

 _"I smashed that"_ , he thought proudly, nodding to himself. He patted his flaccid cock to acknowledge a job well done, then began drawing a bath into the large copper tub in his Cell, unable to resist hitching a huge grin onto his ruined lips.

Harry turned to his ornate dresser unit as the water tinkled into the tub, ready to begin his usual morning cleaning routine, when an anxious thought suddenly caused him to pause a moment. Not having a door on the room made this a risk now, and he couldn't be bothered going back for his wand to cast a concealment spell. But this was something he didn't want Hermione to know about just yet. It wasn't a _secret_ , as such ... he wasn't keeping things from his new wife, in his mind ... but this was a shame that he simply wasn't ready to share with her anytime soon.

Harry huffed out a breath, he would just have to chance it, hope Hermione was too shagged out to wake up before she was fully rested. He opened his potion drawer and took out the seven vials he needed. Two of them were a sort of bubble bath, brewed from Lily's Phoenix Tears, and one was a powerful moisturiser, that helped smooth out the fresh scabs on the scar tissue of his face. Harry added them to the splashing water, watching critically as his bath turned a pale sort of yellow hue with milky bubbles. It was the colour of urine, hardly alluring, but his deeply wounded bones and wrecked visage would be thankful for the healing properties later.

One potion was for pain-relief to be applied directly to his scar, and Harry hated it with a passion. Ron, Riddle ... either way around ... then this fucking despised, but essentially necessary potion. It went in that order in the bitter parts of Harry's mind. He found a fresh pippet in the drawer, and began pinging droplets of the potion over his face and into the hollow of his empty, dark-with-dried blood eye-socket, thrashing and hissing as each drop seared against his tender flesh. The pain was sheer enough to send a single tear trickling from his good eye.

The rest of the potion Harry sprinkled liberally onto one of his spare shawls, as he ground his jaw hard against the pain. The droplets on his skin continued to burn and sear like icy acid, and Harry lashed around, biting down hard on his tongue to keep in a hissing cry of senseless agony, waiting for the potion to kick in and totally numb the nerve-endings that it was seeping into. He drew blood with the ferocity of his biting, so intent was he on not waking Hermione from her much-needed rest.

As he waited to go numb, Harry turned and picked up the scarf, deciding that he might as well get it all over with in one go. He stared hard at the azure blue fabric with a steely resolution for a few seconds, took three deep, swift breaths for courage, and quickly buried his face into the shawl before he lost his nerve ...

... and Harry immediately felt like he had head-butted a wall of the severest, most burning agony imaginable ... and that his face was being irresistibly pinioned against it.

He was hit with, and fought vainly to absorb, another fresh wave of torture on the contact, and lurched back against the dresser, swearing angrily under his breath through gritted teeth. He turned his knuckles white, such was his death grip on the dresser's washbasin, as he tried to offset the excruciating torment that was his _treatment_. But soon, though not quite soon enough, his face became deadened and dull, the pain receded to a background ache, and he sucked in a rattling breath as his racing heartrate began to ease down to normal again.

Then he looked over quickly at his sleepy Hermione. She was still out for the count ... she hadn't seen or heard a thing, and Harry fully relaxed in his relief.

Three potions still remained. Two helped with his mental controls, calming and clarifying his mind. He felt pretty clear today, in all honesty, but he didn't want to take the risk of avoiding this part of his daily routine. This was a day he just _had_ to be alert for. He knocked them back one after the other, like Jagerbomb shots, quite enjoying the taste ... which was cherry this time ... and said a quiet 'thank you' to Cassie. She was always making little flavour additions like this for him, to try and make his medicine a little more bearable.

The last potion was to clean his blood. The dark poison oozing around in the scar on his face was infectious, it had to be controlled, to stop it spreading to other parts of his body. Well, as much as that potent a level of Dark Magic _could_ be controlled. The stench from his scar right now was utterly vile. Genuinely, gut-churningly offensive, you might say. The rancid smell lingered in Harry's throat and he dry retched at it. It hadn't been cleaned for three days, he remembered, and there would be consequences with that.

Harry glanced over at the calendar on his wall. Well, he called it a calendar, but maybe _countdown_ would be more accurate. It was nearly time to have himself checked again. Might as well get Narcissa to do it while she was still here.

She could tell him how far the infection had spread now.

But Harry didn't want to think about at the moment, so he drove the thought deep into the recesses of his psyche. He stepped back towards his bathtub, which was nearly full now ... and yelped as something sharp stabbed into the underside of his bare foot. He reached down and picked it up, cursing but curious as to what it was. Or, rather, picked _them_ up ... and scowled viciously as he realised what they were.

Because he had found the two discarded halves of Hermione's old wedding ring ... left exactly where they'd fallen from her finger on the day she snapped her Marriage Bond to Ron.

Harry could sense the slime of the Weasley signature in his very hands. He closed his eye and drew the ugly energy of their family towards himself, delving into the magical residue of the artefact that they had once forced onto the finger of his beautiful bride. The thought made him retch with more potent, more furious nausea than the fetid stink of his rotting facial flesh ever could.

This had been a family object of near worthless value. It was a remnant found at the bottom of a jewellery cabinet, certainly nothing expensive or important ... just a piece of random tin that Arthur's grandmother had once owned, but hardly ever wore as it was so ugly. It had no use beyond that, but it was an ideal item to be re-purposed as part of a restrictive Marriage Bond. And after all, Ron was too self-absorbed to have parted with anything significant to bind his marriage to Hermione.

But despite all this, the ring was still Weasley enough. It had allowed Hermione to be controlled by Ron, tracked by him, spelled to submission by him from afar. And not just by Ron, either ... but by _any_ of those evil, ginger, perennial Gnome-botherers. The link had been strong enough for them to do _that._

And, as Harry stunningly realised through a quick meditative assessment, it was _still_ strong enough ... perhaps even strong enough to allow _him_ to get to _them_. Stupid, retarded fuckers ... they hadn't cut off the link from their end! Even when Hermione had wrenched herself away from their dark clutches!

The link was still _active_ ... and Harry knew _just_ the way to manipulate the lazy idiocy of the Most Annoying and Nonce-ridden House of Weasley. 

Harry clenched his fist, possessively hard, around the ring shards ... gripped so tight, in fact, that his whole forearm vibrated with his restless exuberance ... and then Harry began wildly fist-pumping in unrestrained triumph. Hermione made an odd sort of snort from the bedroom, as Harry broke out into a manic sort of jig of euphoric celebration, but she was just shifting in her sleep. She rolled fully onto her side, so that the delicious crack of her bare arse and the sexy curve of her lower back were now pointing directly at Harry. He grinned wickedly, licking his lips at the view.

Now he could have a nice little perv on his wife while he relaxed in the bath. He quickly slipped the two ring halves into a side drawer of the dresser, pricked his finger with one of his alchemy tools to seal the drawer with a blood spell, meaning only he could re-open it now, then slid into the warm bath water with a deep, contented sigh, angling himself just right to best ogle his gorgeous witch.

He would soothe himself for a while, then he'd better go and see Neville before Hermione got up ... just to find out for her how much of their Palace was still standing!

* * *

“I cant believe they've finally stopped!”

Enola made the disbelieving exclamation as she closed their suite door and looked over at Neville, her eyes heavy and tired. She watched him wearily kick off his shoes, as he lifted baby Ally from her cot for her morning feed. Enola was still trying to keep her eyes open. She didn’t understand where Neville was getting all this extra energy from, for she was utterly exhausted, herself, having not been able to sleep since Harry and Hermione had sealed their marital chamber for their long awaited sexual union.

And it was a union that quickly became a marathon of love-making ... and they had been at it for over seven hours now.

But it had finally shown the first signs of relenting ... and by that Enola meant that Neville hadn't put out any fresh fires for at least an hour _..._ _literal_ fires, mind you! For Harry and Hermione's searing passion for each other had turned the Palace air into something positively equatorial ... and rendered anything made of textile or wood as vulnerable to spontaneous combustion.

Neville and Enola had spent their night darting from floor to floor, from room to room at times, dousing the flames as they found them, but they couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like up in the Potter Suite on the Seventh Floor. It might have burned to a crisp for all they knew. Neville had tried once to get up there, but the air was so hot and humid, so dense with sex and magic, from the _fifth floor_ up, that he couldn’t breathe long enough to endure it.

But it did give him an achingly firm erection that he didn't want to waste ... so he gave it to Enola instead, when he found her fire-proofing the Billiard Room, getting balls deep in his goddess-level wife on the green baize of the pool table, surrounded by the spotted and striped balls that hadn't exploded or melted yet.

“They had to give it a rest eventually” Neville grinned, proffering a bottle to baby Alison, which she took greedily. "I mean, the sun's come up and everything! Even Harry and Hermione are only human!"

“I just didn't think they'd be at it this long,” Enola hummed, thoughtfully. She moved to get into bed, involuntarily clutching at her exposed nipples as she undressed on the way, driven by the sexually-charged air still soaking through the entire house. She didn’t even notice she was doing it, until she caught Neville just gawking at her. But she had no intention of stopping. “Then again, poor Min has been waiting for Harry to take her to bed since she was, what? ... fourteen? fifteen? ... that’s a _lot_ of sexual tension to work out, isn't it?

"Oi, you! … stop _staring_ at me, cheeky sod!”

Neville grinned at his wife’s faux complaint. “Then stop doing it!”

“I _can’t_ ,” Enola whined, smirking sexily, though her complaint was a little more sincere. “I’m just so turned on. I can’t switch it off.”

“You and everyone else around this place,” Neville replied, grimly. “There’s so much sex on the air … it’s like a bloody whore house out there!”

Enola giggled. “Did you repower the wards?”

“Yep,” Neville nodded, rocking Alison gently. “Didn’t make an ounce of difference. Whatever Harry and Hermione are conjuring up there, my magic is decimated by it. I might as well have been using a rice paper shield against an incoming asteroid for all the good it did.”

“Poor Min, she wont be able to _walk_ by the time they call it a day!” Enola remarked, somewhat dreamily.

“If the intensity of the atmosphere out there is anything to go by, I don’t think she’ll mind that one jot!” Neville chortled. “But I am glad they've eased up at last. Another hour and even pieces of the _furniture_ would have come to life and started fucking each other! I'd have had to go up and beg Harry and Hermione to stop ... not a conversation I would have enjoyed one little bit!”

“It isn't just us then?" Enola asked, cocking her head thoughtfully. "Have other people been affected by this, too?"

“Well, put it this way,” said Neville, wryly. “I went to put out a blaze near Susan Bones’ room. Her door had been blown off its hinges and so I lifted it back into place and got a glimpse inside the room and … well, you’ll never guess so I'll just tell you ... Sue had Cassie’s _head_ smushed so hard between her legs that it looked like she was giving birth to her!”

Enola's mouth dropped open in shock. “Susan and Cassie? Really? Wow. I thought I hadn't seen Cass for a while, and I remember Sue and her chatting a lot at Min's birthday party, but I reckoned Cassiopeia was just being prissy with me for spending so much time with Hermione recently. Well, well ... looks like we've both traded in for other girls!”

“And it's not just them,” said Neville, huffing. "Fan and Ann have hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door, and you know what that means, I saw Owain disappearing into the cellars with a couple of the witches we rescued from Hengest ... and you do _not_ want to know some of the disgusting filth I heard coming out of Mum and Dad's room! Honestly, it'll take a year of therapy for me to forget some of the noises _they_ were making!

“But I'm done for the night. I’ve passed on fire marshal duties to Patrick, while a few of the elves are going around collecting all the tiles that keep flying off the roof. Sir David and Lord Kelvin are busy trying to repair all the windows on the lower floors. Harry and Hermione just keep smashing them.”

“Poor Min,” Enola laughed heartily. “She must be like a quivering jelly up there, assuming she's still conscious!”

“The worst part is, I know Harry’s been researching a whole load about sex magic,” said Neville, gravely. “He can even spell himself to stay hard without ejaculating, apparently. They could be at this until they physically exhaust themselves and just pass out. This could last for _days.”_

“Ah well, maybe we should just get some provisions in and bivouac down, ride it out, you know?” Enola smirked. “On the other hand, you _have_ given me nine or ten orgasms in the last few days ... maybe we should just stay in bed and aim to make it a Baker’s Dozen before breakfast!”

“Well, let me just finish feeding our daughter her bottle,” said Neville, his eyes flaming lustily. “Then you can give me one of your _teats_ to put in _my_ mouth, too!”

Enola giggled filthily, then burrowed down into her sheets to wait.

* * *

Hermione blinked her eyes open and stretched her body out. It was indecent to feel this relaxed, she decided that right away. But this new decadence was _definitely_ the way to go for her. It was the future. She immediately felt a stabbing sense of cold though, as she realised that she was in bed alone. Harry wasn't by her side, where he really should have been.

But he was close by. She could _feel_ his energy ... he though he were a gorgeous new limb that she'd just grown.

"There she is, my beautiful bride. Hey wifey."

Harry's voice was like honey to Hermione's ears, an elixir to that fleeting worry over his absence. She looked up and found him, strung out languidly on the window ledge with one leg crooked at the knee to brace him in place, lit by the dazzling morning sunlight as though it were his own personal hue, his dressing gown ... his _open_ dressing down ... fluttering against a light breeze from outside.

Hermione swooned at her husband's part-exposed torso a moment. He looked devastatingly sexy, and Hermione let her mind wander to the gutter, as her darting eyes drank in every inch of Harry's jaw-dropping body that they could see. Hermione practically drooled at the vision. Harry was lounging against the remnants of the window frame, eating a slice of pink watermelon, and looking like he had not a care in the world. He looked so peacefully content that Hermione's heart actually throbbed with joy as she looked at him, and it made him so unspeakably beautiful in her eyes that she almost wanted to burst into happy tears at the sight of it.

Then she frowned. "What's with the scarf?"

"Er ... I'm an ugly cunt without it?" Harry offered, lightly.

"Harry," said Hermione, crossly. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't wear it anymore."

"When? I never agreed to any such thing," Harry protested playfully. "I _did_ say I'd take it off to kiss you senseless, but that was it. And, as much as I'd love to be, I cant be kissing you senseless _all_ of the time."

"I don't see why _not,"_ Hermione argued jokily, stretching herself out again. "Sounds like a fine way to live if you ask me."

"It would be," Harry agreed, then he smirked at her. "But, the point was, you said I agreed never to wear my shawls again. Which I didn't."

"Why don't we call it an unspoken covenant, between a wife and her husband?" Hermione suggested, patiently. "Take it off."

"No."

"Take it off so I can see your face."

" _No._ "

"Harry." said Hermione, sternly. "Stop trying to act all _independent._ Take off your shawl this instant, let me see your gorgeous-if-sore face, then come here and let me see if I can kiss it better for you."

"Well ... that's just _cheating_ ," Harry protested with a smirk. "That's bribery, that is. Not that it'll work, more's the pity."

"No, I prefer to think of it as _blackmail_ ," Hermione quirked, smoothly. "Because _I_ wont give _you_ a kiss if you don't do as you're told!"

"Then we'll both miss out on kisses," Harry chortled, dramatically.

"Harry ..."

" _Hermione ...!_ " Harry aped, chuckling. "Look, I can't take it off, not for a few hours at least. My scar hasn't been treated for a couple of days, so I've had to clean it up this morning ... and you know I have Healing elements on my shawls. It _helps_ me to wear them, it's the only thing that does, so it has to stay on for a bit. In any case, my scar absolutely _stinks_ when it gets to this state ... so trust me, honey, it's better this way. You'll just have to accept that there will be times when I have to wear my wrappings, that's just how it is.

"So, why don't you scoot that sexy little arse of yours over here to _me_ , enjoy the view of our gorgeous Estate this morning, and help me eat some of this breakfast buffet that the elves have made for us while you're at it."

"You know I don't like heights, Harry."

"You didn't seem to mind last night ..."

Hermione blushed, hot and scarlet. "There were a _lot_ of things I didn't mind last night, I'll have you know. But your sassy mouth _wasn't_ one of them! Now ... come _here_!"

Harry sighed, accepted defeat, and conceded to Hermione. He looked over at her cute, bossy expression. He couldn't win against her ... she was simply _too_ adorable ... even if she was pretty much his own personal dictator at this point. Harry was completely under her sway, and he could never deny her anything that it was within his power to provide. Hermione exerted total dominance over him, and he gave to her whims happily, like she was some sort of tyrannical puppy that it was his honour to pet.

Hermione grinned and lorded her victory, as Harry crossed to the bed and stretched himself out languidly next to her.

"That was pathetic, sweetheart!" said Hermione, giggling. "I recently told Luna that I'd eventually get you to do whatever I asked, but I expected you to put up a bit more of a fight than _that_!"

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? You're _naked_. I'm powerless against that inducement."

"That's good to know," said Hermione, turning and snuggling next to him for a moment. Then she sat back and eyed him playfully. "Well, chop chop, _husband_. If you've gone to all this trouble to bring me breakfast in bed, you might as well pour me a cup of tea!"

Harry guffawed and set to work, busying himself at the large trolley full of fruit and pastries, and hot and cold drinks, that the house elves had placed next to the bed. "Well, I can't really claim to have _brought_ you breakfast in bed, as Rhian and Sally just turned up randomly with the spread about ten minutes ago, but it's only a white lie if I pretend to be responsible, isn't it? In any case, here's your tea."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Hermione beamed, blowing the hot liquid to cool it. "How long have you been up?"

"An hour? Maybe a bit more?" Harry guessed, stirring sugar into a tea of his own. "I cleaned my scar, had a bath, got all nice and fresh for you." 

"You should have woken me sooner," Hermione purred. "That bath looks easily big enough to fit us both! That would have been such a romantic way to start the day!"

"We'll do that another morning, definitely!" Harry nodded keenly, laying back down at Hermione's side. "Maybe tomorrow, if you like. But I couldn't pass up the chance to just watch you sleep. It's just the most relaxing and beautiful thing. I find it very therapeutic, you know. I'm looking forward to doing it a lot more."

Hermione blushed as she smiled back. "That's a little creepy ... but I'll allow it!" she teased. "So, what have you been doing all morning, apart from bathing and perving on me!"

Hermione blinked demurely as Harry burst out laughing. "Well, I thought I ought to assess the damage we did to the house, just in case the whole thing was about to come tumbling down on top of our heads. That just wouldn't do at all, as I'm sure you'd agree!"

"How bad is it?" Hermione smirked.

"Well, most of the crockery and furniture on this floor has been _totally_ annihilated," Harry began, with a conversational grin, propping himself thoughtfully up on his elbow to give his damage report. "And we burst all of the plumbing in the bathroom, so our entire floor was flooded. But there's good and bad with that."

"Good _and_ bad?"

"Well, we caused flash fires on the Sixth Floor so intense that they combined into _something_ of a localised inferno, but the flood waters from Seven seeped through the ceiling and put most of it out, so I'm seeing that as a total win. We won't be able to use the Sixth Floor for at least a month, though. We were experimenting with some potion-based weaponry down there and that's all gone up in flames ... leaving the air poisonous and unbreathable until we can get it properly fumigated. I wouldn't advise going onto that floor anytime soon ... unless you want to have all of your insides melted, or for your bodily organs to combust in alphabetical order!"

"Oh, sweet Merlin!"

"But, the most important thing is that we've still got somewhere to call home ... we just wont be able to use most of it for a while!"

"In that case, you'll just have to take me out for the day instead," Hermione grinned, teasingly. "We'll let everyone else to fix the damage for us while we're gone! They don't pay rent so they cant complain, really, can they? What do you fancy doing?"

"Hmm, let me see," Harry funned. He drew his wand and Summoned his calendar to him, which hung in the air before them a moment. Today's date shone out brightly, highlighted in emerald green. "September the twenty-fourth, a Thursday ... not the sexiest day of the week, I grant you, but we could see if there's a musical on in the West End or something ... I know a guy, he'll do us a good deal on tickets and binoculars ..."

"Harry ..."

"Look, I'm just trying to play normal," Harry joked with warm sincerity. "I hate that I've left the world so dangerous for you, and for so long, that I cant even whisk you out on a random date if I feel like it. Next year, for your twenty-fifth birthday maybe, we'll do something really special. I promise."

"Promise?" asked Hermione, her accent loaded with meaning.

They looked at each other, fierce, blazing intensity in both their gazes ... and they silently agreed. This time next year, this would all be over ... the darkness would have passed and they could really start to live. The private oath settled between them like a spell.

"Promise," Harry confirmed, calmly.

"Well, seeing as you cant take me out to spoil me, we'll just have to enjoy ourselves at home ... or what's left of it!" Hermione grinned. "Any suggestions?"

"Hmm ... I could give you your final wedding present. That might be interesting."

Hermione sat up in deep curiosity. "You have _another_ present for me? Harry, you really don't have to keep getting me things, you know."

"Rubbish," Harry chortled at her. "You are the most deserving witch in the whole world, and I intend to shower you with random gifts for the rest of your life. So we'll start with the next one right now, shall we? Rhian!"

"You can't give me _Rhian_ ," Hermione teased. "That contravenes elven fealty laws. Besides, you cant give me something that's _already_ mine!"

"Be quiet, you," Harry smirked, scrunching his eyebrows at her in his humour.

Rhian popped next to the bed. She smiled warmly at the newly-weds. "Hellos Master Potter ... and _Mistress_ Potter. Yous might want to put yous boobies away, Mistress! They be all out and waving to the world!"

Hermione squeaked in her shame and quickly pulled the bedsheet over herself, hiding her modesty as Harry howled with laughter next to her and slapped the mattress in his mirth. Hermione just glowered at him crossly till he stopped.

"Rhian, could you please fetch that package I left in your care? The one I wanted to give to Lady Potter if we ever got married."

"Ooh, ooh, yes Master Harry," Rhian squealed, excitedly. She popped away and was back again in less than half a minute. She handed a thin, flat package to Harry. "Happy wedding day, Mistress Hermione Potter. Mistress ... Rhian have a question to ask you."

"Ask away," Hermione smiled, warmly.

"Does Mistress mind if elves be calling her Mistress _Hermione_ from now on? Only Master Harry lets us use his first name, but elves be liking to use yous first name, too. But we calls you Mistress Potter, if yous prefer."

Hermione blushed. For some reason, this question of formal propriety set her heart to wild flutters again. It made her feel more like Harry's _real_ wife than ever.

"Actually, Rhian, I'd _really_ like you all to call me Mistress Hermione," she replied with a warm smile. "And though I'm technically your Mistress now, I'd like to be your friend, too."

Rhian clapped her hands and sang out gleefully. "That be _exactly_ what Master Harry say when we ask him years ago! Master Harry ... yous done very well on picking a good wife today."

"I know I have, Rhian ... and I'm glad you think so, too!" Harry smiled, winking at Hermione as he did so. "But, if you could give us some privacy now ... I have to give my wife her first present of our marriage."

"Very good, Master Harry. Rhian get back to helping with breakfast. Yous best be coming down soon, needs to eat, Mistress and Master Potter ... needs to get strength back up after all that _exercise_ last night!"

Hermione blushed bashfully and Harry grinned at her shyness. "Thank you, Rhian. We'll be down shortly. Is the Breakfast Parlour still in one piece?"

"Mostly, mostly," Rhian nodded, piously. "But maintenance elves might need to put up scaffolding to fix big hole in the ceiling. Mister and Missus Potter do so much naughty damage here last night ... Palace may never be the same again."

And with that she shook her head ruefully, and vanished with a little _pop_.

"Oh dear ... I don't know if I can face everyone if things are _really_ that bad, Harry!" Hermione mumbled, anxiously. "I'm sure I'll be terribly mortified when I see them all."

"Nonsense," Harry dismissed with a wide grin. "You're the Lady of the House now ... and if you want to decimate it in the throes of your sexual pleasure, then that's perfectly up to you, and hang whatever anyone else might think about it!"

Hermione laughed out loud at that. "So, what's this present you've gotten me, Harry? I'm intrigued now."

"Well, I could be all modest and say it isn't much," said Harry, smirking. "But that would just be a downright lie, and I don't want to start off our marriage on a dishonest foot. So, here, this is for you ... thanks for marrying me, Hermione Jane Potter!"

Hermione hooted out another laugh, clapped her hands in excited glee and took the long, thin box from Harry. She had a wild notion for a moment that it might be a new wand, as it looked the right shape, but it wasn't. Hermione opened up the box to reveal an ornate, slender, brilliantly golden _key_. Rubies were set into the hilt, which was an elaborate Celtic lattice design, and it was very heavy.

"Harry ... as you left this under the magical care of a powerful _house-elf,_ I'm guessing that this key opens a lock that contains something very expensive, or very dangerous," Hermione began, shrewdly. "And you shouldn't have gotten me something that was either! So which is it?"

Harry laughed at Hermione's bossiness. "That key opens the door to a hidden chamber, on the third floor _beneath_ our Palace. Whether you think that what's kept inside is dangerous or not, well ... only time will tell, I suppose."

" _Third_ floor?" Hermione queried, confused. "I thought that there were only two below ground? Your Ritual Room, Resonator Stone and things like that are on Sub-level One, the catacombs, cellars and crypt are on Two ... so what's on Three?"

"The Merlinic Line ... or Potter family ... Buried Vaults," Harry explained, dramatically. "Or, if you prefer, _our_ _family vaults_."

Hermione gasped in her surprise. First off, she definitely _did_ prefer to call them that, and secondly ...

"We have family _vaults?_ Wow. And what exactly do you ... sorry, do _we ..._ keep in them?"

"Pretty much everything you'll ever need to know about our descendants, ancestry and all things Family Potter," Harry grinned. "You'll find our history and family tree down there, our unique Potter magic and how to use it, special family jewellery and heirlooms, stuff about our connections to the Order of Merlin and the Knights of St David ... oh, and of course ... our family _fortune_."

Hermione's eyes bulged involuntarily. She felt instantly ashamed of herself, for she had never been a slave to money and didn't intend to start now ... but still ... she had a _fortune_ buried beneath her feet? That wasn't something to be so easily ignored. 

"Yep," Harry smirked again. "I forgot to tell you, amidst all my other communications, that by marrying me you've now become _filthy rich_ , Mrs Potter. And I give you permission to spend our money pretty much however you like ... within sense and reason, of course."

"I ... I ... _filthy_ rich, you say?" Hermione whispered, her eyes glazing slightly. "Oh my! Imagine the good we could ... show me this, Harry ... you have to show it to me. Right now!"

"Okay then. Let's get up and get dressed," Harry grinned, jumping to his feet and offering his wife his hand. "But first, I think we had better go and face the music for our nocturnal activities, maybe have a bit of breakfast while we're at it. I don't know about you, but I'm famished. Our wedding night really worked up quite an appetite, you know. And though you might be a bit shy about what happened last night, I cant _wait_ to see everyone's faces this morning ... this is going to be such a laugh!"

* * *

 _ **Enjoying this story? Check out some of the** _ _**others in my portfolio! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales, or join the HMS Harmony Discord Server to chat with me and other like-minded Harmony shippers about all things Harry & Hermione! Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!**_


	43. The Lovegood Inquisition

****

* * *

**Disclaimers:** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasley's and Dumbledore, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

Harry reached across Hermione, met her eyes over the rim of her teacup, exchanged a sweet, loving look with her a moment, then took and another slice of toast from the rack to her left, which he then proceeded to butter carefully. Well, to call it a tea _cup_ would be something of an inaccuracy, when in fact it was actually one of baby Alison's plastic beakers that Hermione was drinking from.

In fact, it was what they were _all_ drinking from ... one cup at a time. ... because it was the only thing they had _left_ for the job.

This was a fact only further emphasised by Sally, who was walking around the populated, but awkwardly silent, Breakfast Parlour, scooping up fragments of china that had been missed on the earlier sweep-up attempt, which had been the _first_ tackling of this mammoth task, that was dealing with the absolute carnage that Harry and Hermione's wedding night love-making had wrought on the entire Palace.

It was all Harry could do not to burst out laughing. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. So he tried his best to pout and frown as always, but inside he was being tickled to death. And it didn't help that Hermione, sat so invasively close on his left hand side, was in exactly the same state as he. She was locked in a death struggle with a fit of giggles herself. Harry could _feel_ them inside her, as potently as if they were actually in his _own_ chest, which only made his own chaffing mirth ten times worse.

So Hermione sat in silence, burying her giggling lips in as much tea as she could stand, pointedly avoiding making eye contact with _anyone,_ while Harry fought hard to pretend that ... despite the glaring evidence all around them ... everything was just the same as it always had been. It was a game everyone else was playing, and Harry was just in that sort of mood to join in.

But it was so damned hard!

For a start, some of the house-elves were nosily erecting a scaffold along one wall of the Breakfast Parlour, to begin replacing the missing parts of the ceiling, which had been swept into a neat little mountain nearby. They were whistling a cheery little tune, and clanking merrily away, as they attached struts and rivets and brackets to the steel frame. There were torturous screeches as wooden beams were slid roughly into place, and every now and then a playful elf would push another from the scaffold, and belly laugh as his victim bounced away off the scorched and singed carpet like a rubber ball.

And the assorted witches and wizards at the large breakfast table ignored all of it, as if they couldn't hear any of the racket happening just a few feet away from them.

Then there were the witches and wizards themselves. Harry was sat opposite Susan Bones, who was tousled and sleep-mussed and kept flashing nervous little glances at Cassie, sat at the other end of the table. Both of _them_ deliberately evaded looking in the direction of Neville, who was sat with Enola on Hermione's other side, but he regularly flicked his humour-filled eyes their way, trying to catch them off-guard, then grinning madly every time he managed it.

As for Enola, herself, she had clearly been fucked to within an inch of her life by the looks of her. That was obvious from her dreamy expression and curiously curly hair, as she'd usually prefer to die before she displayed _that_ to the world in a state other than the immaculate straight lines she favoured. Plus the fact that she had actually been _limping_ when she and Neville entered the Breakfast Parlour that morning, which told its own story.

After all, Harry hadn't seen her in such a state since the day after her own wedding.

And he was thrilled for her. Harry knew how deep Enola's love for Neville went. He'd felt it in ritual with her, not that he'd have needed magic to work it out. It was obvious in every nuance of her behaviour. But her emotional depth was matched in intensity by her _physical_ attraction to him. And Enola Longbottom was nothing if not a physically passionate girl. And it had been months since Neville had been able to be intimate with her. The loss was causing her borderline depression, and Harry hated seeing it, and being unable to help.

But now, it seemed, his wild plan had worked and he actually _had_. And Enola looked bright and vibrant for the change. Harry knew Neville would eventually ask him the awkward questions, look for answers and a repeat prescription to his previous dysfunction. Harry would have to chat with Enola, devise a strategy. He could always point to the runes, say it was Potter family magic ... part of a secret he could only share with Hermione, the only other properly recognised member of the family. He could say his Dad had struggled with the same thing and had suggested the solution.

Only later, when Harry was actually _saw_ his father, that would be an awkward lie to explain away. But that would be an afternoon delight for the future. So, for now, he just wanted to have fun playing this little game at breakfast.

And the _best_ player at the table had now decided to deal herself in.

"It was such a shame that you didn't have a big party in the daytime for your wedding, Lady Hermione," said little Celesca, ruefully picking at a plate of scrambled eggs she was sharing with Luna. "I was so looking forward to one, but it was past my bedtime by the time the ceremony was finished in the night and Mummy said I had to go to sleep."

"I'm sorry, honey," Hermione cooed. "Maybe you and I can have a little party of our own instead this afternoon? Would you like that?" 

"Ooh yes, can we? We can have cake, and jelly, and ice-cream, and biscuits," Celesca began in a sing-song voice. But then she stopped, and her face curled into a cross little frown as she looked over at Luna. "But, wait ... I had better ask Mummy first ... just in case she wants to be really cruel to me again."

"I haven't been cruel to you," Luna argued, colouring slightly as the others turned to look questioningly at her. "When was I cruel?"

"Last night, when you made me go to bed after the wedding."

"That wasn't cruel, Celesca," Luna told her gently, relaxing with a smile. "That was me being a good _M_ _ummy._ It was very late and your were so tired that I had to carry you to bed in the end."

"It _was_ very cruel," Celesca insisted, narrowing her eyes, adoringly cute and cross all at once. "It was mean of you, I think, because everyone else had little parties of their own after the big one and, Mummy, you were _very_ unfair to me, I think, because you wouldn't let me go to any of those, either."

"People had other parties?" Hermione queried, cocking a bemused look at Luna, who sagely widened her eyes and subtly shook her head, desperate to implore Hermione not to encourage where Celesca was going with this, but she helplessly misread the expression. It was a fatal mistake.

"Oh yes," Celesca returned, sweetly. "And everyone else seemed to be having _so_ much fun. They were doing funny dances and banging around and making _a lot_ of noise and things like that. But I just had to sit with Mummy and Nanny Ciss and play Exploding Snap until I was tired enough for bed, which didn't seem like half as much fun as the others were having."

"It does sound like some of the other parties were better," Hermione agreed, winking at Luna, who closed her eyes in pity at what Hermione was blindly bringing down upon herself.

"I bet they were," Celesca nodded, vigorously. "But, what I don't get ... and maybe _you_ can explain this to me, Lady Hermione, because Mummy wouldn't tell me when I asked her earlier ... was why everyone decided to take all of their _clothes off_ for it?" 

Hermione spat her tea back into her beaker as a bolt of shocked laughter broke through her restraint. At the other end of the table, Cassie snorted out a guffaw, and Harry just focused on chewing his toast as fast as he could ... sure he might crack a rib as he strained against his own giggles.

"D-did they, sweetheart?" Hermione replied with, Harry thought admiringly, remarkable composure. "How strange."

"They did, every single one of them," Celesca confirmed with a confused little frown. "Why do you think that was, Lady Hermione? What were they doing that for?"

"I ... I really don't know, honey," Hermione backtracked desperately. She looked to Harry for support, but he just turned away, sure that his jaw had broken from the effort of trying to keep it shut.

"Oh. That's a shame. I thought you might know, you see, because I saw ... with my special magic in my mind ... that _you_ were doing a funny dance with no clothes on, too ... with Mister Harry ... and that he didn't have any clothes on, either. So I thought you must know all about it. Only me and Mummy and Nanny Ciss _didn't_ have a party with not clothes on, you know, so we must be the only ones who don't know how to have one like that."

"Yes, that's probably it," Hermione agreed, weakly. 

"Not only _that_ , though," Celesca ploughed on relentlessly. "But I think some people thought it was Halloween already, you know. But, as I was telling Miss Myfanwy earlier, that isn't till _next_ month. I think, being stuck in here, people forget what date it is sometimes."

"And … er … what makes you think that they thought it was Halloween?" asked Harry, deeply curious despite the war he was losing against his aching lungs.

"Well, it was all that _screaming_ ," Celesca explained patiently. Hermione made an explosive sound with her nose, and grabbed Harry's hand under the table, practically crushing his fingers with her vibrating death grip. They couldn't hold out much longer. "I don't know if they were scaring each other on purpose or what, but it must have been terribly frightening.

"And Miss Enola does a _very_ good zombie impression too, don't you, Miss Enola? Can you do it for me now, because I'm sure Lady Hermione would like to see it? You know the one …' _urghhh urggghh urghhh' …_ you must remember it, as you were doing it for _ages_ last night ... and it's really very scary."

"Yes, yes it is," Neville agreed, nodding solemnly, as Enola glowed crimson next to him and shrunk away from the raft of attention that flew towards her.

Harry purposely knocked his fork to the floor, so he could quietly die under the table as he ducked down to retrieve it. He wondered vaguely who would find his corpse ... and what Tom Riddle would think when he found out that Harry had been killed by a little girl making him laugh himself to death. He pushed his whole fist into his mouth and rocked crazily as he tried to keep his giggles as muffled as possible.

"So, why _didn't_ you have a bigger party, Lady Hermione?" Celesca was pressing on back at the table. "I thought that's what you were supposed to do when you got married. Didn't you like your wedding very much, or something, and didn't want to celebrate it that long? I thought it was all very pretty, really, if you ask me."

"So did I, sweetie," said Hermione, stupidly thinking that the worst was over, as she tugged Harry back up to his seat. "But Harry and I just wanted to have a little party of our own, as it was our first night as husband and wife. It was a time we just wanted to spend with just the two of us."

"Oh, I see. That's nice, isn't it?" Celesca chirped, sweetly. "I bet Mister Harry probably still got you a present though, didn't he? He thinks such _pretty_ things about you, Lady Hermione, did you know? And, as it was your wedding day, I'm sure he gave you something really special last night, didn't you, Mister Harry?"

Hermione spat the mouthful of cold tea she'd just chanced to sip right down the front of her dress in her unexpected shock.

"Yes, I did," Harry replied piously, grinning at Neville, who was red in the face trying not to erupt with laughter. "I gave her something _very_ special, Miss Lovegood."

"Was it big?" asked Celesca, curiously. Hermione had gone purple trying to bite down on her own laughter, but she still managed to kick Harry's shins under the table, as punishment for where he was grinning so smugly at her. "I think you're the kind of person who likes to give big things."

"I do, you're quite right," Harry confirmed, smirking brilliantly. "And this thing I gave to Lady Hermione was _huge_."

"It really was," Hermione confirmed, somewhat wistfully, causing Enola to grin broadly at her.

"But it's what you do with it that counts," Neville added, frowning slightly as he watched his and Harry's wife have a full-on conversation with just their eyes.

"And what's that?" asked Celesca, fascinated.

"Yeah, Nev," asked Harry, calmly swivelling to face Neville. "Tell us whatthat is, again, wont you?"

"You make girls happy with it," Neville countered smoothly. Harry acknowledged the skill with a brief nod.

"Oh. That's nice," said Celesca. "Do you think I can get one then, seeing as _I'm_ a girl, too?"

"No!" Hermione, Enola and Luna cried in animated chorus.

Celesca frowned. "Well, that seems very unfair, if you ask me," she said haughtily. "Especially if all the other girls get one. Maybe I can just _borrow_ yours, Lady Hermione. You can't have liked it, because Mummy told me all the broken windows were _your_ fault. I don't think you'd have smashed windows if you were _happy,_ would you? Maybe you broke yours. I'll think I'd better come up later and have go on it, see if it still works. If not, I'll take it away for you. I think that would be best."

Harry had lost the ability to breathe. He couldn't take much more.

"No, sweetie, it's fine," said Hermione gently. "Mister Harry has put it away already. And that's where it will be staying if he doesn't _grow up_."

 _Sorry, Min._ Harry thought. Bizarrely, Hermione seemed to _hear_ him, as she narrowed her eyes teasingly in his direction. They were twinkling with humour, though, so he knew he was still on safe ground with her. But that was a very odd few seconds that passed between them.

"How about we have a proper party later then" Harry offered to Celesca, as much to pacify his wife as anything. "I'm sure you can help with the decorations and things. We have a big gazebo somewhere around here, so why don't we put it up outside and have a big garden party in the sun?"

"Oooh, can we, Mister Harry?" Celesca cried excitedly, easily redirected. "Will you let me, help, Mummy? I wont be any trouble, honest."

"Of course, sweetie," said Luna, smiling, glad that the cringe-fest was finally over. "Why don't we go and find Rhian, see if any of the house-elves can be spared to help."

"Okay, but I don't think they will be," said Celesca, seriously. "That earthquake last night practically broke the house in _half_ , you know … it's going to take _ages_ to clean up all the mess …"

* * *

 _ **Enjoying this story? Check out some of the** _ _**others in my portfolio! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales, or join the HMS Harmony Discord Server to chat with me and other like-minded Harmony shippers about all things Harry & Hermione! Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!** _


	44. The Rats of the Ratway

****** **

* * *

****Disclaimers:**** Dark themes, police state ideas, mention of spousal abuse (including rape) on and off-screen, death of minor characters, graphic imagery and violence, frank sex discussion, copious bad language, bashing the fucking Weasleys, liberties taken with mythical history and the HP real-life timeline.

* * *

An hour or so after breakfast and Hermione had tolerably gotten over the mortification brought on by Celesca Lovegood and her incessant curiosity. It was lucky, she reasoned, that she had Luna and Enola as fellows in the Chamber of Shame, and between them they laughed away any potential awkwardness, as they prepared for a very pleasant afternoon tanning themselves in the sunshine of the Blue Palace garden.

But before any of that could be enjoyed, Harry and Hermione had business underground, where Hermione would finally be shown the things that only a true Potter would ever be permitted to see.

The Third Sub-Level of the Palace looked a lot, in Hermione’s opinion, like the Department of Mysteries back at the Ministry. Once she had followed Harry through the revolving elevator of Godric Gryffindor’s suit of armour, she found herself at the end of a cool, shadowy corridor that looked more like the deepest emerald green than simple black. Numerous recessed doors were set into the shiny, dark-tiled walls and the crackling torches produced only insignificant light, giving the whole place a spooky air of subterfuge and secrets.

“Now, ignore all of these other rooms,” Harry told her as they walked briskly past them. “We are here to see just two chambers, down at the far end, and I will tell you the stories behind them. All these others have stories, too, and one day, when it’s appropriate, I’ll tell you all about them as well. I promise you that, Hermione … that one day you will know _all_ my secrets, I wont keep anything from you anymore, and my full disclosure begins from today.”

Hermione smiled shyly at that. “I know you will, Harry. I trust you.”

Harry blinked back, his way of a warm smile, before soon coming to a halt outside a door that looked no more remarkable that its neighbours, but which the glint in Harry’s eye suggested was otherwise. Hermione wrung her hands and waited for Harry to begin.

“Now, just to start, you know I’ve always had a bit of money about me, yes?” Harry asked.

“I’ve never actively thought about it, but I suppose I always knew you were well off,” Hermione considered, thoughtfully. “I mean, you always had new robes and equipment and books and things … well, apart from that bloody old copy of _Most Potente Potions_ that came between us during our Hogwarts Sixth Year!”

“Yes, well,” Harry grinned bashfully. “Let’s not think about _that_ year, shall we? … the memory of you pining and slobbering all over Ron might bring my breakfast back up my throat!”

“Charming!” Hermione laughed. “I could talk about _your_ behaviour back then, too, you know, … but I’m worried that it might be the only tease that makes you genuinely decide to hex me!”

Harry chortled deeply. “I suggest we both forget about it. I got over you turning me down for Slughorn’s Christmas Party, after all … and piously ignored you having that animal McLaggen’s tongue down your throat when you were under the mistletoe for most of the night …”

“Harry, please …!” Hermione begged, looking a little green. “I’ve tried to forget that ever happened!”

“Which part?” Harry quirked, wryly. “Not going with me … or your five sets of tonsil tennis with Cormac?”

“Shut up, Harry!” Hermione rebuked. “Just tell me about this fortune you mentioned.”

Harry laughed heartily, which surprised him. “Look at me! Laughing about you with other wizards! I genuinely break things when I think about stuff like that usually. Dr Freud might call it _growth_! I’ll have to tell him about it later.”

“What … _Sigmund_ Freud?” Hermione queried in astonishment. “How have you …”

“Later,” Harry cut her off, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Today we are talking about material wealth.”

“Which I hope you have plenty of,” Hermione told him, gravely. “The Palace is a _state_. I’m amazed it’s still standing!”

“Nah, she’s a tough old girl,” Harry grinned. “Such just needs time to rest and recover. She’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Hermione quirked her eyebrow at him. “Why are you talking about the Palace as if it is a _living entity_?”

“Because, in a way, it _is!_ ”

Harry let his cryptic announcement hang in the air a second, until Hermione crossed her arms and demanded an elaboration.

“This house is configured to channel a unique type of energy,” Harry began.

“Yes, I know that,” Hermione cut in, impatiently. “It’s yours.”

“Wrong,” Harry corrected with a grin. “It is the energy of the _Potters_ that flows around this place. And while it is true that it reflects my moods and state of mind, even my physical condition in extreme cases … which is why the house was so shattered after our wedding night activities, because _my_ body was exhausted, too … that is only because I was the only Potter for it to tap into.

“But now … there’s _you_ , as well. Which is why the devastation was so extreme … it was reflective of the mess we _both_ left each other in, in the best possible way, of course!”

Hermione let out a hush of surprise. She had once thought that the house had responded to her energies in much the same way as it did to Harry’s, and it was only _now_ that she saw how these were tentative connections, almost as though it were testing her out, putting her worthiness on trial.

And, if what Harry was suggesting was correct, the house must have decided that she had passed the test … that she really was Mrs Hermione Potter now. She felt the warmth of understanding flood all through her, and enjoyed the smile that it bloomed across her cheeks.

“So, are you saying that the house will get better as soon as we do?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, unless an external influence stops it doing otherwise.”

“Like the elves keeping that roundtower as shrine of a ruin,” Hermione nodded sagely. “So that’s why you were laughing at everything today? You know the damage was superficial.”

“Oh, I don’t know about _superficial_ ,” Harry swooned lowly. “My love-making wounds were quite deep … and very satisfying … I’ll have you know!”

“Harry!” Hermione admonished, achingly cute in her shyness. “Stay on track, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Boss!” Harry twittered. “Let’s get back to the money. So, yeah, I was never shy of a bit of gold, was I? The reason being, you see, was that following the early death of my maternal grandparents … who were both getting on a bit when they had my Mum, and neither of whom survived to see _me_ born … their house passed to my Mum and Aunt Petunia in their will.

“But then, when my father’s Dad heard that Mum was pregnant, he bought Petunia out of her share of the house and gave full ownership to my Mum, sort of like a future-proofed birthday present for me. For, you see, Mum then sold the house and put the money into savings fund at Gringotts for me, one I couldn’t touch until I came of age.

“Even after all the fees and taxes were paid, the house still fetched over three-hundred thousand pounds when all was said and done.”

“That was really thoughtful and forward-thinking of Lily,” Hermione nodded in approval. “And it’s not an amount to be scoffed at either. Three hundred grand is a nice little nest egg, isn’t it?”

“It was, and from little eggs _big_ things can grow,” Harry replied, somewhat smugly. “You see, under my father’s direction … both before and after his death … a Goblin Investment Banker was employed to oversee the Fund, and make prudent investments where he saw fit.”

“And I assume the investments were shrewd?” Hermione replied.

Harry tapped his chin dramatically as he considered his answer. "The money was mostly invested in businesses and other ventures overseas, in Europe and South America specifically. Not all at once, mind you … stock brokers are dodgy bastards in any world … but the investments were good and soon started paying off.

“I knew nothing about this until the Knights told me. Lord Kelvin, who is my solicitor by trade, guided me as I invested more, until soon I had a bulging portfolio of stocks and property holdings that is, at this point, _significant_. When you factor in the estate that I alone inherited following my parent’s death … which was absorbed into my own accounts .. our annual dividends are very pretty at this point."

"Harry … don't make me hex this out of you!" Hermione huffed. “How much are we talking about here?”

"Okay, keep your knickers on … or _don’t_ ," Harry smirked. “We are quite alone down here, you know …”

“Harry Potter!” Hermione yelped, faux affronted, as she slapped his arm playfully.

“Maybe later?” he asked, hopefully.

“ _Definitely_ later … if you ever get to the point sometime soon!”

Harry chortled, deeply. "Well, at last count … and don’t get disquieted by this … behind this door sits about half a _billion_ Galleons, give or take a Sickle or two."

And Hermione promptly clutched at her chest in a fabulously comical manner.

"And," Harry went on, smugly ignoring his wife’s spluttering display. "If you include all of my … I mean, our … assets and property and stock portfolio, both here and abroad, you can scale that number up by ... ooh, I don't know ... a factor of, maybe … _seven_?

“So, congratulations, Mrs Potter ... you have just become the wealthiest witch in Europe, and one of the five richest in the whole _world!_ "

"Oh my … goodness help me!" Hermione breathed. She sat down on the floor in a daze. "Harry … that … with that much money, we … oh my, think of all the things we could do with that! All the _good_ we could do, Harry! Oh my … I feel a little faint."

"Well, I _was_ thinking of using it to bribe Death Eaters and traitors, to get them to switch sides," Harry teased, thoughtfully. "But then I decided I'd just rather just line the bastards up and slaughter the whole fucking lot of them."

"You are not giving away our fortune to Death Eaters, don't you even bloody think about it!" Hermione told him, dangerously. "We could do so much positive for people with that sort of funding. We could set up charities and welfare schemes; schools and orphanages for the generation of children brainwashed and robbed of their parents by Tom Riddle’s evil; recovery centres for all the battered witch-wives out there … because I know there are plenty of those, and not one of them is as fortunate as me, to have a magical cure-all like you to help them deal with their abuses … the list is endless!

“Harry … that’s how we could _really_ change the world! We can help the sick and weak and needy … we can bring aid and hope to the people who … who don't have so much as us..."

Hermione's thoughts flew to Luna, the worries that she once expressed about her future, and the sort of help that Hermione could give her now, or others like her, as Luna was part of the family and going nowhere. Maybe she could buy Celesca from her … maybe share her on a short-term loan. She'd pay a handsome rent … by the hour, annual rate, whatever worked … Hermione was _loaded_ now, after all … she was sure they could work out some sort of time-share deal for her favourite little Seer …

 _“Shut up, Hermione_ ,” she thought to herself. _“Keep your head on!”_

“I'm happy for you to indulge yourself,” said Harry, blissfully unaware of Hermione's minor flight of temporary insanity. “The vault has a built-in magical ledger, which records all incomings and outgoings, so I can see what you spend if I choose to … but I want you to start considering this as _your_ money now, and become comfortable enough to use it whenever and however you like … as I said this morning ... within reason, obviously."

"What's within reason?"

"No presents for other handsome wizards,” Harry funned. "Or prostitutes. I warn you, I'm liable to become even more rabidly possessive now where you're concerned. I don't want to share you … that’s where I draw my line That's pretty much it, though."

"Okay. No presents for sexy wizards," Hermione swore faithfully, a tint of humour in her solemn eyes. “So … can I see it?”

Harry grinned, turned around and ran his forefinger along the centre line of the door. Hermione watched with increasingly wide eyes as the fortune was revealed to her, losing her breath entirely when she saw the final amount displayed in stark sight.

For there weren’t just piles and stacks of gold here … there were _mountains_ of it!

Literal mountains. Hermione couldn’t even see the top of some of them, as they disappeared into a sort of golden mist at the top of the chamber. The amount was obscene, the sheer number of coins collected here defying logic … Hermione looked as though she had been hit with half a billion Stunning spells as she tried to take it all in.

“Wow … Harry! Just wow!” Hermione breathed faintly, dappled in the golden light reflected by her new wealth. “Is this really all ours?”

"Every single Knut,” Harry grinned to her. “And like I said, it’s only a fraction of our true net financial worth. Since Old Tom’s ascension to Dark King of the Britons, my income in Europe has stayed at Goblin Banking and Holdings sites across the Continent, but the _GBH_ in Britain kindly reconfigured their branch in London to redirect all domestic payments directly here, via a complex and untraceable network of delivery lines. Riddle and his chums have tried to hack in at least a dozen times, but it’s impervious to any malicious magic.”

“The Goblins helped you?” Hermione asked, in surprise. “But I thought they supported The Regime?”

“The Goblins support the Goblins,” Harry corrected her, flatly. “They are largely neutral in terms of wizarding politics, but neutrality means accepting, and working with, whoever the ruling power is at the time. They helped, and funded, the rise of the Death Eaters to the position of the lone power in Magical Government, as even evil regimes cant function without effective financial infrastructure.

“They hoarded their looted treasure and art works, bankrolled the major construction works of the Avada Chambers and work camps and _Muggleborn_ _Re-Education Centres_ , provided the bribes to Muggle politicians, to cover up the ever-encroaching Magical activities in the Muggle world …

“But the Goblins are centrally concerned with wealth and profit … and families like ours represent the rich potential of both. So, as long as they play ball with the Death Eaters, they are largely given freedom to conduct _business as usual._ It then falls to the individual investor to decide if they are confident enough to leave their money in such a place.”

“And you weren’t? Confident, I mean?” Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, I was not. I removed all of my wealth from Gringotts as soon knew I had this place to keep it safe instead. You don't need me to tell you how badly the county was pilfered and extorted following Riddle’s victory, as ' _rewards_ ' for him and his fucking clan when they took over … as hush money for influential dissenters … soothing pay-offs for those who got cold feet at the sight of the calculated Muggleborn genocide he was asking them to carry out in his name.”

“No, I am well aware of all of _that_!” Hermione spat, bitterly. “I know that it is precisely how Ron was rapidly elevated to the ranks of the super-rich at least.”

Harry looked at Hermione in a cautious manner, and when he spoke his voice was quiet, considered and delicate.

“Do you? Do you know _precisely_ how he did it?”

Hermione swallowed sharply, as though Harry’s very words were a jagged object that had scratched painfully into her throat. She braced herself for an explanation that she knew innately she wasn’t going to like one bit. Hermione gulped hard again, as a dense silence was born in the air between them.

The truth was, Hermione didn't know the full and horrendous tale of Ron’s rise to prominence. She’d never wanted to know the details and minutiae, as the guesses were bad enough, so she’d never ventured to learn more. She knew that Ron had been rewarded handsomely by Riddle, though she'd never quite known for doing what.

But, judging by the hurt, murderous look in Harry's eye, he _did_ know … and it wouldn't be a pleasant story for him to tell.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked lowly, stepping close and pressing a hand to his chest, to still his heaving hatred. “I have a feeling that I’m not going to like hearing this … but tell me everything that I don’t already know.”

Harry sighed weightily, closed the door to the Potter Vaults with slow, deliberate movements … then moved to the next door along. He paused with his hand on the door, and closed his eye in his building ire. He took another deep gulp of the cool air to steady his searing nerves.

“When you took that brave trip into Europe, to rally the International Confederation of Wizards to our cause, you travelled out using the only active portal through the Containment Wards, one designated purely for diplomatic purposes,” Harry began slowly. “But when you came back, you used another … altogether more secret … route home.”

“Your _Ratway_!” Hermione breathed in subdued excitement. She had been eager for Harry to explain to her all about this incredible conduit to safety he had set up with Amelie Flamel … but she hadn’t expected that _Ron_ would have any connection to it. She shuddered violently, as she considered the myriad of wild possibilities flittering through her mind, tempering her enthusiasm for the disclosure. How in the hell could a Weasley be involved with something so brave and positive?

Harry was about to tell her … and the story would make Hermione hate the family even more than before.

“Exactly, my Ratway,” Harry began. “With the help of my Knights and the Order of Merlin, we set it up as a way to smuggle victims of The Regime out of the country, once the European Council of Magic closed the borders on Magical Britain. It was a clandestine, underground network of fearless witches and wizards, who would work tirelessly to shuttle to safety anyone who found us and sought refuge abroad.

“The Burrow was used as a major safehouse in the early days, a stop off point if you like. Bill and Fleur were part of the system then, and Arthur converted the basement and cellars into secret bunkers, where people on the run could hide until we came to collect them, before moving them on to the next stop on the Ratway

“Desperate Magicals would go to The Burrow, be given new identities, and then be taken to a point where they could safely cross into Europe, or board Muggle ships to Africa or the Americas. And then, we would use our insiders at Gringotts to shift all their material wealth into _this_ room … which I call _The Ratway Vaults.”_

Harry opened the door and Hermione was hit with wide-eyed astonishment again … for even though the amount of gold and possessions in this room seemed less than next door, it was still a substantial collection, and one hell of a sight to see.

“This is where I keep it safe for them all,” Harry explained quietly. “Lord Kelvin has meticulously catalogued everything, so that we know who to return it to when the time comes. All items in this room are accounted for, and to remove even a single Sickle without my express permission would trigger the firing of an Immobility Curse and an alarm to me, personally … because I’d like to look the thief in the eyes before I killed him where he stood.”

Hermione shuddered at Harry’s icy declaration … he meant every syllable in the coldest determination he possessed. Hermione felt his ferocity stir inside her.

“I want in on that, Harry,” Hermione told him, fiercely. “Even if you wont cut me in on the enchantment, I’d like to be with here with you when you carried out the punishment … if anyone was idiotic enough to try and steal from this place. You really are an extraordinary level of hero, do you know?”

“No, I’m not … because of what I allowed to happen to the Ratway,” Harry replied, his voice low, half-guilty and half-infernal anger.

“Tell me,” Hermione insisted. She readied her best _calming-Harry_ magic inside her breast … she felt she might need it for the declaration.

“After Arthur gave up hope of convincing Ron and Ginny and Charlie to see the insanity of their actions, he did something I’ve never forgiven him for … he stole from the Ratway fund, not a great amount, but enough to get him and Molly out of Britain and set up comfortably elsewhere,” Harry explained, his tone like acid. “Molly was heartbroken by the betrayal by her youngest children … it was the thing that killed her, not half a year after they reached Egypt. Bill and Fleur went with them, under the guise of protection, but they had simply turned their backs on the fight here like cowards.

“They angered me just as much as Arthur,” Harry riled, the air turning dense and taut as his boiling fury ignited it around them. “Fleur had been sponsored by Amelie Flamel during her tuition at Beauxbatons, and was due to Apprentice with her in due course. I expected that she’d go right to her, that she and Bill would join our underground resistance in Europe.

“But they didn’t. They fled to Egypt with Arthur, where they’ve set up a very lucrative business in Cairo. They enchant items for tourists, give tours of the wizard tombs … Arthur even offers sight-seeing rides for kids on a magic carpet.”

 _“What!”_ Hermione shot, angered and disgusted. “How could they?”

“It gets worse,” Harry told her. “Molly’s dying wish was that Arthur continue trying to help Ron and Ginny, but Arthur is quite as stupid as either of them. So his way of helping them … and this is ongoing to _this day …_ is by depositing as much money as he can spare into a secret account in the Gringotts Bank of Egypt … one that can be accessed in London by either Ron or Ginny whenever they choose.”

Hermione felt a vein pop out on her temple. “So … is _that_ how Ron got his all money!”

“No … not _all_ of it,” Harry seethed. “Even magic carpet rides wouldn’t make a pauper into a millionaire overnight.”

Hermione swore and gasped in anger … and swore again. “Ron was … _is_ … a _millionaire?”_

Harry nodded solemnly.

“How? He never showed me a god-damned Knut of generosity to suggest he had so much!”

“Do you really expect him to have?” Harry asked, fairly. “He’s a self-absorbed, paranoid, hoarder. He’d only spend lavishly if it was a way to show off or to gain favour … and, without you taking this the wrong way, showering a Muggleborn, _thief of magic_ witch hardly counts!”

“Then I take back what I said earlier,” Hermione huffed, bitterly. “You’d better shower me with as many gifts as you can, to make up the shortfall!”

“I will definitely be doing that,” Harry confirmed, but his mood didn’t lighten a jot.

“So, go on then … tell me how Ron acquired his wealth,” Hermione demanded.

Harry’s mood darkened dramatically, and covered him like a stormcloak. Hermione dropped her cross and self-interested air in a flash, and became instantly concerned for what this confession would bring out in her husband.

“After Arthur and Bill had gone, Ron and Ginny took over the management of The Burrow, and immediately set about finding out what their father had been using it for, because they knew he was hiding something,” Harry continued.

“Dont tell me they found out about the Ratway?!” Hermione hissed in her horror.

Harry closed his eye and nodded. “Arthur had left in a hurry. He hadn’t tidied up after himself, leaving evidence of his own false paperwork in plain sight, as well as the open bunkers to where the protected funds were being kept.”

“Oh my word!” Hermione cried. “Stupid, stupid man!”

“Yeah,” Harry riled. “It didn’t take Ron and Ginny long to work out what had been going on, and then tell people who were really useful in exploiting the information.”

“So, I suppose you had to shut the Ratway down after that? It would have been too dangerous to use, I imagine?”

Harry, abruptly and unexpectedly, _punched_ the open door with full force, as a torrent of frightful anger burst free from him as this memory stirred. Hermione felt it prickle over her skin in dark waves, as she leapt back in startled shock and surprise at Harry’s sudden eruption. She was desperate to go to him, to soothe him. But he was visibly shaking with rage and she felt she should wait it out a moment.

"Ron and Ginny kept the Ratway going," Harry ground out acidically. "But they _re-purposed_ it for their own ends. They saw the potential of the massive financial gain that could be tapped into, by exploiting the weak and the vulnerable, those who had sought us out in their most helpless of hours.

“So they hijacked parts of our underground communication network, keeping it active for anyone who could find it. Frightened, desperate Magicals kept coming to them for help … all the ones being hunted or persecuted by Riddle and his followers … they would find Ron and Ginny and they … they told them ..."

Angry magic burst free from Harry and cracked the wall in front of him. Hermione dug her fists into her robe to stop herself from jumping up to go to him. He still wasn’t finished.

"They told them …" Harry breathed in deeply, fruitlessly trying to steady himself. "… told them to bring all their gold, all their possessions, everything of value that they wanted to save. The Weasleys said they would store it for them, then send it on later, exactly the same way _we_ had.

“They made it all seem so genuine … even going as far as telling people to expect delays on being reunited with their possessions, as it was getting too dangerous to carry very much along the Ratway as time went on. Fear does the most terrible things to people, Hermione. The Magicals were so desperate to escape, most forgot they could probably Transfigure everything they owned and put into a box no bigger than that one I gave you your engagement ring in.

"But in their panic and terror, they just did exactly what Ron and Ginny told them to. The Weasleys fed the escapees all sorts of sob stories and excuses about themselves, to cover their duplicity … inventing yarns about how they were helpless slaves to The Regime themselves, just to mask the stench of their own treacherousness. I imagine they were the same ones that Ron had you believing for a while

“It was even easier for his cunt of a sister … Ginny Weasley may be the most accomplished liar I've ever met. The role was perfect for her.

"So, frightened Magicals would come along, hand over all their earthly possessions to the Weasleys, in return for being smuggled along the Ratway to a new, safe life abroad. Husbands protecting their wives, desperate parents doing whatever they could, sacrificing everything to save their terrified children …

“It's what _had_ happened … it was exactly what we had done before … so people walked blindly in, none the wiser to the fact that it was all an elaborate trap.

“They trusted the Weasleys … as they trusted me and my proxies, and the escape route we'd set up for them. But Ron and Ginny they ... they ..."

Harry's breaths were coming in shallow troughs now. Hermione's restless urge to soothe him was making her wild in her withheld frenzy. She watched his struggle, almost frozen in place by the force of his emotion. He commanded himself to finish the story.

"Ron and Ginny would take the Magicals into The Burrow, storing their goods and money, and promising them freedom within a few days," Harry went on. Hermione didn't know how he was still able to talk. She could feel the hatred pounding through his very words, pouring out of his mouth like scorching lava. "But, in fact, those poor wretches would never leave The Burrow alive … for Ron and Ginny would simply deliver them into the now-converted cellars … where they’d have them killed.”

Hermione sucked in her angriest breath yet.

“They didn't even do the dirty work themselves,” Harry seethed on. “They would hermetically seal the escapees in the cellars, then pay someone else to cast a special _Cyclone Spell_ in them, a spell designed to suck all of the air out of the place … leaving the victims to die horribly … of suffocation. They all died that way, _hundreds_ of them … thousands, maybe … the witches, the wizards, the old … and the children.”

Hermione clutched at her throat as a strangled sob escaped it. Hot tears hit her cheeks before she even felt them coming. Harry looked too incensed to show that kind of emotion … it was revenge he was consumed with right now, not abject pity.

“When enough time had passed, the Weasleys would simply return to The Burrow and divide up the spoils between them. Ron took the most, as it would look very suspicious for one of Riddle’s Chief Concubines to suddenly become _too_ self-sufficient, especially a previous pauper like Ginny. The Weasleys barely had a pot to piss in before the war, so it would have looked dodgy for Ginny to go from dedicating her womb to her career in unpaid prostitution, to suddenly flashing the cash like a lottery winner.

“So they allowed Ron to get rich, he in turn spent lavishly on Ginny under her own direction, and they passed it off as brotherly generosity and displays of fealty to Riddle … ways to ingratiate Ron to the upper echelons of the Dark Order.

“I … I've heard stories about the lengths that they’d go to for money, Hermione … terrible, terrible stories … of how they even pulled gold teeth from the corpses of their Muggleborn and Muggle victims … just so they could melt them down to sell or store."

Hermione cried out in abject horror. Tears flowed freely now, and she finally gave in to her imperative need to soothe her husband. She leapt up and drew him to her. Harry's anger flowed out in surging waves, coating her in his darkness a moment, but Hermione's concerned need to comfort him seemed to create a barrier that stopped it escaping … then utterly dissipated it a moment later. It was confined to the space of their embrace and Hermione could absorb it, use it to fuel her own determination to calm her husband, before siphoning it away.

Where did it go? Who could say … but, in the intensity of the situation, neither really noticed that this was happening anyway.

“I tried to put a stop to it … but by the time I realised what was happening, the Weasleys were on the verge of shutting down their operation anyway,” Harry went on, pulling clear of Hermione to angrily pace again. “Ron was getting a regular income from Arthur by then, and his stolen wealth was accruing significant interest in his vault at Gringotts. He was well off and only getting wealthier.

“So he turned his attention to advancing his Death Eater career. Ginny was manipulating his rise professionally, pulling the strings, sleeping with the right people to get her brother the promotions he needed, knowing that the richer he became, the more _she_ would get in return as payment.

“But Ron needed to make a big stir of his own, deliver a significant prize to The Regime … one that would propel him to Riddle’s Top Table.

“And, so, that was when Ron’s final betrayal to the Order of the Phoenix took place … for it was by using the information that Arthur had carelessly given him access to, by not covering his own cowardly flight from Britain, that Ron came into possession of a complete list of active and operating members of the Ratway, locations of our safehouses, transport and meeting hubs, and the top underground Magicals who were co-ordinating our most dangerous efforts of resistance.

“Through using that document, Ron was able to spearhead the rounding up of our leaders on the ground, before turning them over to the depravity of the Death Eaters for fame and favour. Prominent wizards like Shacklebolt and Slughorn, certain Knight Bus conductors - who would turn a blind eye for a bulging bag of Sickles - Dean Thomas and Ernie Macmillan, and the racing pigeons they trained for us to use in place of trackable owls.

“And, finally, he was able to capture and turn over our most formidable ally of all, the acknowledged leader of the Resistance Movement in Magical Britain … for the last resident of The Burrow cellars was … was … _Minerva McGonagall.”_

“No!” Hermione moaned, the ache of the confession punching her squarely in the chest.

This aspect pierced her viciously to the heart as she heard it, wounded her ferociously, as, Harry knew, McGonagall had been Hermione’s favourite teacher back in their school days. Learning of Ron’s treachery towards her felt like yet another personal assault … and one more enormous reason to vitriolically despise him. Hermione screeched out in emotional agony, as her rage rose to a level that matched Harry’s stride-for-stride.

"They lured Minerva to The Burrow, for one last hurrah," Harry spat out. "Ron was fast becoming the poster child for Riddle's insane magical purification regime, Ginny on the verge of spawning her first abominable child by him. Once they were exposed to the public, they wouldn’t be able to fool naive innocents about their true natures anymore … and the Ratway would cease to serve them.

"I never knew exactly how Minerva had died until … until we saw it in that decoy Horcrux,” Harry ground on relentlessly. “She was sheltering at The Burrow, on the run from the Death Eaters, after breaking into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magical Governance and setting fire to the mounted trophy that they’d erected of Filius Flitwick’s head, following his decapitation by Antonin Dolohov.

“I just assumed that she’d been suffocated like all the others. I had no idea that Riddle had actually gone to The Burrow himself, to do it personally. But I should have guessed … Tom always did like powerful trophies, and Minerva McGonagall is as powerful as they come. Or, at least, she was …”

“I cant believe this, Harry!” Hermione fumed. “I just cant _believe_ it … cant believe _him!_ McGonagall was my favourite teacher … I _loved_ that witch! Ooh, I'm _definitely_ going to scalp Ron in her name now, make a tartan beret out of the flesh, just to honour her memory!”

“When you do, perhaps you can give it as a gift … along with the enormous wealth he stole from Minerva back to its rightful owner,” Harry suggested, quietly.

“Minerva had _wealth_?” Hermione asked in surprise.

“Her family did,” Harry explained. “Then Riddle took it and gave it as a reward to your traitorous former husband, as well as bequeathing to him McGonagall's large family estate in Ayr, Scotland ... not far from Hogwarts, actually. Minerva’s brother, who legally owned that vast sway of land, was chased out of the country by the Death Eaters. Luckily, he fled right to me … became my magical solicitor, actually …"

"Lord Angus Kelvin!" Hermione exclaimed, vehemently. "He’s McGonagall's _brother?_ "

"He is," Harry confirmed. "Minerva married, obviously, and took her husband's surname, but the Kelvins were a powerful family in their own right. Rich, too. Ron was given all their wealth, lands, assets … making him an aristocrat virtually overnight."

"So that's why Malfoy and the Death Eaters kept calling him _Lord_ Weasley?!" cried Hermione. "I did wonder … considering most of them knew how much of a joke he was."

"I understand they called him a lot of other names in private," Harry informed her. "Genuine respect cant be bought, Hermione, especially if you are still as big a prick and as mediocre a wizard as he is."

"I don't want to talk about him anymore … not unless it's when you are delivering him to me to cut into little bits,” Hermione scoffed, bitterly. “I have so much to hate him for, Harry … for all the people he’s wronged in the world _besides_ me … I don’t think I have room in my heart for this much hatred!"

“I’m so sorry, Hermione … I let this happen … I've let so many people down, by being so weak and stupid … so many people …"

Hermione was half-wild in her concern for Harry, with her fresh surges of hatred for Ron and Ginny. She snatched out, clutching Harry’s head back to her shoulder with everything she had. She knew exactly what he was thinking, as if his thoughts were crossing through her _own_ mind …

But the potency of the emotions running around inside Hermione robbed her of the ability to realise quite how _precise_ the thoughts were, or to consider the deeper meaning of that … such musings had to be batted aside until Harry was calmed again, until his anguish and agitation had been slain.

He blamed himself for all of this, Hermione knew. He'd set up this escape route … created hope for those who needed it most … only to have his brave efforts so disgustingly perverted by the Weasleys. And at the cost of Minerva McGonagall's life into the bargain. Hermione was frenetic in her need to reassure him, to absolve him of his misplaced guilt … but she knew that this wasn't the time. While the perpetrators were still at large, Harry and incessant rage would have no closure.

 _Ronald Weasley … Ginevra Weasley-De-Mort … Antonin Dolohov …_ the list of people Hermione was going to slaughter with abominable violence was forming clearly in her mind now.

She couldn't soothe Harry of this, but maybe keeping him talking would be cathartic enough for now.

"What you did was very brave,” Hermione whispered, in firm but gentle support. She eased Harry’s head back a little, so she could lovingly smooth his good cheek. “You set up a conduit of _hope_ … I’d have certainly taken hope from it, had I known it existed. But I suppose Ron was especially active in trying to keep knowledge of it from me … and it was the Weasleys, including the stupidity of Arthur, who turned it to such nefarious purposes, my love, not you. This isn’t your fault.

“You can’t take the blame for them being such devious, ginger cunts, Harry.”

He sighed deeply, smirking against his will at Hermione’s atrocious language … designed to lighten his atrocious mood … and turned his head into her ministrations beneath his shawl. He’d never be able to tell her how much he loved her, no matter how long and how often he spent at the task. It was so devilishly frustrating.

“I don’t deserve you,” Harry whispered back with a thankful smile, rubbing his face against her fingers as if she were petting him.

"I know … but if you keep trying, anything is possible!” Hermione teased lightly, causing Harry to snort out a laugh at last. “So, tell me how _personally_ you were involved in the Ratway? How did you manage to help so many people when we all thought that you were dead? Even you're not that good, Harry!"

It was a shot at positive reinforcement from Hermione. Turn the guilt around, focus on the positives, use them to lighten her husband’s mood as much as she was able. It seemed to work, as Harry grinned weakly and his shoulders relaxed a little.

"I feel like I can trust you with any secret, so here's one you might enjoy," Harry began, slowly and a little smugly. "The wizard Merlin, as you know, is a distant ancestor of mine. He was born in a coastal cave near the town of Carmarthen in Western Wales. It was such a significant magical event in our history that it left a fundamental imprint on the very atmosphere in that area of the country.

“You see, the magical discharge created by his birth was so ridiculously intense that no other magic can infiltrate the space there. When the European Council of Magic erected the Restriction Wards around Britain, they had no choice but to leave a gap open in that spot. Even their combined magical efforts couldn’t penetrate it.

“So, it seemed like a natural place to create the final stop on the Ratway out of Britain, a little doorway to freedom no bigger than the space occupied by Merlin’s mother, when she gave birth to him there. And that was where you re-entered Britain recently, via that wild cave in West Wales."

"Wow, Harry," said Hermione. "That's one hell of a secret to hold!"

"Exactly … which is why the European Council of Magic needed one hell of a Secret Keeper to protect it," said Harry, pointedly.

Hermione fixed him with a confused stare for all of three seconds … until she gasped aloud as understanding settled on her. " _You?_ You’re the Secret Keeper of the Wards!"

Harry nodded. "I erected a secondary barrier on _our_ side of the European one, completely covering the cove where the cave is located, thus shielding the exposed exit. When a Magical refugee made it there to escape, I would turn up under my Dad's old Invisibility Cloak, open the Ward in secret, and let them through before closing it again.

“I even added my magic to the Wards outside as well, so that their signature is practically identical … which allows me to do something quite useful …”

"That's how you can move through the Restrictions on Britain!" Hermione exclaimed, excitedly. "Because you helped _create_ them, it give you a pass _through_ them! It's got nothing to do with special crossing points at all!”

“There’s my little genius!” Harry grinned, fondly. “Your mind at work _genuinely_ gets me all hot and bothered, do you know?”

“I’ll have to remember that one!” Hermione laughed back. “So, you can cross anywhere? At any point in the Restriction Field?”

“I can,” Harry nodded. “Anyone trying to curse-break the Wards would have no idea that I was part of the defences, unless they dug really deep into the magic of the point near Merlin's Cave to find my magic within it, and the possibility of that happening is extremely remote.

“And because _I_ can move through it, anyone who shares my magic and energy can, too … particularly _my wife_.”

Hermione blinked in her surprise. “So, that’s how I got through without you opening the Wards for me when I came home … because you were in my mind?”

“No,” Harry smiled, warmly. “It was because I was in your _heart_. You were Mrs Hermione Potter the moment my family ring accepted you into our little clan, entwining the very base of my energy with yours. It recognised you for all the perfect that you are … and swore allegiance to you as a result.”

Hermione leaned in and kissed Harry deeply, indecently. It would have been a thousand types of wrong not to. But then a confusing thought caused her to break away from him before they got carried away.

“But Harry … if you have to open the Wards to get out … how did _Arthur_ manage it without you knowing?”

And, just like that, Harry’s mood nosedived again.

“This is where Bill and Fleur went beyond redemption, too,” Harry seethed. “They waited … and waited … and _waited_ … until a certain type of family came to us seeking help. Then their cowardly plan swung into action.

“I personally screened everyone who found us, you see, just to make sure we weren’t being hoodwinked by Death Eaters, or had Section Seven trying to infiltrate our operation. I would stealthily enter the Holding Chambers under The Burrow and use a bit of secret Legilimency on the guests we had hiding there, just to make sure they were genuine.

“The last time I was called there was to look at a family who had been smuggled to us by Oliver Wood, who is one of our insiders at the Ministry. Young family, too … Mum and Dad no more than twenty-one, twenty two, something like that … two kids … _twins_ , in fact, one boy and one girl … so young that they must have been born when the parents were still at Hogwarts, a product of childhood romance, but obviously a happy one. The parents were very much in love, I was in no doubt about that without using any Cerebral Magic.

“But they were so frightened that night, Hermione, terrified about what was going to happen to them and their poor, scared children … I was so beside myself with worry for them that I almost came out and revealed my identity, hoping that it might calm them down a bit.

“They’d spent _months_ on the run, apparently … the father worked with Oliver, and he had told some off-handed joke about Voldemort being a half-blood, when he was drunk at the pub on a staff night out. The wrong person heard it, told the authorities, and that was enough to get the father placed onto a Death Eater Watchlist … and then their twins got targeted in that sickening eugenics programme that I hear the Hiranis are suffering under …

“Poor Parvati and Padma … I wish I knew where they were, so I could go and get them and their kids, but it’s the top of all Top Secret programmes and we cant find out anything about it, even its location. I think Tom, himself, must be conducting it … how else could it be so well concealed?

“But, anyway, I went to see the family when they arrived at The Burrow,” Harry ploughed on. “And they were so genuine that it broke my heart. It was the children, I think, and not just _because_ they were children. I’ve met some arsehole little kids … not all of them are cute and adorable, you know.

“But these two left an impression on me. They were shivering with fear when I saw them, they were that frightened … _actually_ shivering. I’d never seen a child shake like that before … and if I never see it again it will be too soon. It certainly wont erase the image of these two from my mind, in any case.

“Oddly, it was as if being on the verge of escape was the time when they were the most frightened … as if turning over their safety to us had taken away their own control, and it petrified them,” Harry continued. Then his expression clouded darkly again. “Though I later learned that their fear … which was very real and very genuine as it was … had actually been _heightened_ by some very obscure magic that I wasn’t familiar with at the time.

“For it turns out that the magic of _infatuation and obsession_ can be flipped to a much darker purpose with the right focus …”

“Veela Magic!” Hermione hissed in her seething anger. “Fleur _made_ them even more terrified than they were! But why?”

“To get in to my head, to play on my most crippling weakness … my desire to help people in need,” Harry confessed. “I think you call it my _saving-people-thing.”_

Hermione swore violently. Harry had never heard that _particular_ configuration of curses before, but he was deeply impressed by his wife’s creativity in combining them as she had.

“Explain this to me, Harry, right now!” Hermione raged. “I am _this_ close to declaring a full-on Blood Feud against the entire Weasley race! I just want to make sure I have _nothing_ to regret when I do … so tell me why Fleur would do something so sinister … and to innocent _children_ no less _!”_

“It’s simple, really,” Harry replied, darkly. “The process was always the same … I’d screen the escapees at The Burrow, then again at Merlin’s Cave, just to make sure that they hadn’t been replaced … or _Polyjuiced_ … in the intervening time. Once the Weasleys had _acquired_ a family of four, Polyjuicing into them was the easy part … hell, you could brew Polyjuice when you were barely a teenager! The recipe is readily available in a Hogwarts text book!

“No, their big problem was getting around _me_. I may not be the brightest tool in the box, and you might fool me once … but you’ll never fool me twice, not where magic is concerned these days. So they had to find a workaround … a way to play my heart off against my mind, knowing that my passions would always win out.”

“Oh, oh … I think I see what you’re saying!” Hermione cried, angrily. “They had to get past you at Merlin’s Cave … so they made the kids immensely frightened when you saw them at The Burrow, used Veela Magic to play on your pity and your _heart_ … so frightened, in fact, that you’d be so desperate to get them out of Britain that you wouldn’t screen them again at the gateway … you wouldn’t follow the safe, logical procedure … you’d ignore your _mind_!”

“Ten points to Team Hermione,” Harry smiled, weakly and sadly. “And that is exactly what happened. The Weasleys slipped past me, looking so grateful - Polyjuiced into that scared family - that I felt like I’d won the entire fucking war with one victory! So I didn’t bother with my secondary checks, despite Narcissa warning me to the contrary. I just ushered them quickly through with a cheery little wave … then was left to hate myself when I realised how they’d screwed me.”

“Why didn’t Narcissa check them?”

“There was no point … I conducted the baseline validity test at The Burrow, so it was always my final say-so to open the exit portal or not,” Harry explained. “And my head had been turned already, to help this family no matter what, thanks - in no small part - to Fleur’s manipulation of the children.”

“And what happened to the _actual_ family?” Hermione chanced.

“What do you fucking _think_ happened to them!” Harry yelled, his emotion snapping like a thunder cloud.

Harry screeched in his anguish, immediately ashamed of his outburst. He pulled Hermione into the tightest hug he was capable of, before she even had a chance to feel hurt by his venting at her. She held him closer, letting him know with her fierce embrace that she was there to absorb his frustrations with the world, and that he was free to let go with her.

“I’m so sorry … forgive me … please?” Harry breathed into her fragrant hair. “This is my guilt, I was stupid and weak and played … but it doesn’t give me the right to yell at you. Nothing does.”

“You weren’t yelling at me, you were just yelling,” Hermione soothed. “I’d have told you off by now, if you were trying to be that sassy with _me!”_

“Hex me … if I _ever_ speak like that to you,” Harry made her swear. “I’m sorry. This just makes me so angry, because I swore to myself that if I ever came across anything like that again … children looking that horrendously scared … that I wouldn’t hesitate in my actions … I’d bring them straight here, to safety, and deal with the consequences later. I hoped that I’d never have to follow through with that … that I’d never see a child that frightened again … and I didn’t … not until …

“… until that night we saw the Death Eaters trying to sacrifice Celesca in Glastonbury.”

Hermione yelped shrilly as the memory sliced to her. It hurt her like a blow to the chest. “Those kids they … they looked like _that_? Like poor Cesc did that night?”

“Just as bad,” Harry confirmed, closing his eye and fighting tears that were so, so close as the memory surged hard through him. “I’ve never forgotten it … I doubt I ever will. And when I saw little Cesc that frightened, that mindlessly panicked, up on that ceremonial altar … I just _lost it_ … I _had_ to get to her, no matter what it cost, no matter how many of them I had to bite and maim and kill … I just had to get to her …

“I thought … maybe … if I could get to her … if I could just save _her_ … it might make up for not … for what I … it might make up a _little_ bit for not … for not …”

And then, Harry’s tears came as his guilt got the better of him. They broke scorchingly hot against Hermione’s cheek and Harry was uncontrollable in his grief. All Hermione could do was be there with him as he rode this out, beyond consolation, beyond external soothing. He would calm in his own way, however that was. All Hermione could do was hold him, reaffirm that he wasn’t there alone.

But Hermione had her own inner turmoil to deal with. She could picture little Celesca Lovegood as clear as day … this gorgeous, incredible child that she had come to love so much, in such a short space of time … terrified with the most abhorrent fear possible, a fear so potent that it shouldn’t be allowed, a sort that Hermione had almost forgotten that the little girl had once suffered from for real, on that first night she’d seen her. Hermione couldn’t get the image out of her mind now … just couldn’t shake it, however hard she tried.

Hermione suddenly snapped like Harry, crying out in anguished grief as the vision began to consume her … unable to believe how much she ached at it, or the potency of the hatred she felt against the possibility of Celesca ever feeling such a thing again … or of any child ever being exposed to such fear.

And she suddenly understood Harry’s tears in the most exacting way … and his transference of his own care for Celesca onto the memory of this random family, that he’d convinced himself that he had failed to save.

But this wasn’t his fault … he hadn’t hurt anyone. It was the Weasleys. They had done all of this … done it to _Harry!_ He felt this grief because of them! And, Hermione realised with a thrill of horror, they could _still_ do it to him … because the memory of Celesca confessing to Narcissa, about how Ginny and Bellatrix were invading her dreams, was still fresh and raw in Hermione’s mind. They must have some sort of link to Celesca’s mind, Hermione surmised, that Ginny was still exploiting.

And … if _one_ Weasley could exploit it, could hurt their favourite little Seer … then …”

“Harry! Harry, sort yourself out!” Hermione demanded, ripping herself back with angry purpose. “Celesca is in danger! We have to help her!”

“Cesc? In danger?” Harry riled, primed to fighting form in an instant. “How?”

“Ginny and Bellatrix have been attacking her in her dreams, and we have to stop it … _at source_ ,” Hermione declared in a vicious battle-cry.

“This is new news to me,” Harry quirked, crossly. “Why haven’t you told me about this sooner?”

“I suppose it got lost somewhere …. between my European vacation, and trips into your mind … oh, and by going through a complex alchemical marriage with you!” Hermione cried, incredulously.

“That’s fair,” Harry smirked.

“But this is my priority now,” Hermione seethed. “Those evil bitches have been using the link between Draco and his daughter as a conduit … and I’d bet all the gold in our vault that Ginny has put a Weasley tether into Celesca’s mind, because they must all know that Draco’s days are numbered on account of his failures against us.”

“Then we have to butcher Draco and Bellatrix and Ginny,” Harry riled. “Good. I’ve been itching for a mega bloodbath.”

“No … no! Killing them alone wont be nearly enough!” Hermione cried, shaking her head angrily. “Celesca is special, possibly far beyond anything we yet understand. Even Narcissa agrees … maybe _Riddle himself_ has an interest in her, that’s why he set Ginny to this task … to create a link to Cesc for his study, in case Draco loses his connection when we kill him … because that will take any link Bella has along with it … which just leaves …”

Harry’s expression ignited with dark excitement. He looked fit to burst with his sudden eruption of energy and enthusiasm. The heat and intoxicating power coming off him made Hermione want to tear his clothes off with her teeth.

“Ah, I think I see what you mean … if Ginny has created a link to Celesca, it might be like _yours_ …”

“... meaning that _any_ Weasley could utilise it …”

“... and killing Ginny alone wont be enough to keep Cesc safe …”

“... so we have to make it a clean job of it …”

“... remove the possibility of Riddle using the Weasleys to hurt little Cesc …”

“... remove the Weasleys _full stop_ … for all their crimes against us … no matter where, or how, they might try and hide from us.”

Harry and Hermione looked fiercely at each other, blazing intent reflecting in the three eyes they shared between them. They didn’t need to speak to set the pact … the Blood Feud oath was created the moment their intents matched up in their hearts and minds … which was faster than _simultaneous_ by a matter of degrees.

“That’s settled then,” Harry nodded as the spell infused them with pulsing intent. “You go to Cesc … I think your very presence might be a barrier against Ginny. Have fun with her, play with her, make her joyous … Death Eaters hate pure happiness, it physically _hurts_ them … it will torture Ginny and Bella and Draco if they try and break into her mind when she’s so blissful.”

“And what about you? What will you do?” Hermione demanded to know.

“I’m going to get Cissa to tell me where I can find find Draco … then I’m going to bring him here and kill him,” Harry growled violently. “And then I’m going to contact Dietmar, wherever he is … get him to bring the Africa Corps of the ZGD up to speed on current events …

“Then he, and you and I, are going to take a little trip to Egypt, find the cowardly Weasleys that are skulking in the backstreet shadows of Cairo there, and give them a better final resting place than those gypsy paupers could ever have dreamed of getting … surrounded by royalty, in the Valley of the Kings … under the sort of ancient magic that no-one, especially no pathetic _Weasley_ , could ever hope to break through.”

* * *

 _ ** **Enjoying this story? Check out some of the**** _ _****others in my portfolio! Drop me a comment if you're enjoying any of my tales, or join the HMS Harmony Discord Server to chat with me and other like-minded Harmony shippers about all things Harry & Hermione! Thanks for reading and stay safe in these wacky times!** ** _


End file.
